


Oops

by TheAngush



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Drama, F/F, Femslash, Futanari (infrequent), Plot With Porn, Romance, Sexual Content, Vanilla, Yuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6400423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAngush/pseuds/TheAngush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a party she hates, Amy Dallon meets a girl named Taylor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“C’mon Ames, it’ll be fun!”  
  
I gave her my best stink-eye. Or I tried to, anyway. She made it difficult, pouting and fluttering her eyelashes up at me—which required her to kneel down, given I was seated on my bed. Not to mention the subtle prodding of her aura—enough that its presence was noticeable, even if it didn’t affect me. “I was planning to go to the hospital tonight.”  
  
“You went yesterday,” Vicky said. “C’mon, please? They don’t need you tonight. And if something comes up, I’ll fly you right over!”  
  
“Mm.” I didn’t stand, moving on to the next excuse on my mental checklist. “It’s not really my scene.”  
  
“What isn’t?” she said, raising an eyebrow and smirking. “Talking to people? C’mon, Ames, it’ll be fine! You don’t have to drink or dance or anything. There’ll be games to play and other things to do. And I _promise_ I won’t try to set you up with any guys. You can just sit around and talk with the girls or—oh! Kath told me about this girl, Melissa. She’ll be there. I think you’d like her. She’s really into biology and stuff.”  
  
I kept my face carefully blank, glancing around my room to hide how hard I worked to avoid laughing. _If only she knew_. When I finally composed myself, I moved on to my next excuse and said, “I don’t know her. Or this… Kath.”  
  
“You do so know Kath! She’s the one whose boyfriend cheated on her with Danielle Fuls. Remember? From chemistry? When they had that fight in the hall outside class?” She tossed her head. “Plus, Dean’ll be there.”  
  
“Uh…” I frowned at the non-sequitur. “Isn’t he hosting?”  
  
“Well, yeah,” Vicky said. “But what I meant was, it’s not like you won’t know anyone there. You’ll have me and Dean, and I think Carlos or Dennis or one of those guys will be coming, too. But, Ames, you’ll never make any friends if you don’t _talk_ to people. People you don’t already know inside and out. So, like, people who aren’t me.”  
  
_That’s a little patronising, Vicky_ , I thought. But of course, I didn’t say it out loud. She was right. Not that it really mattered—the thought was dispelled the moment she smiled.  
  
“Pretty please with a cherry on top?” she said, voice growing more earnest. Painfully so. “I think this could be really, really good for you, sis.”  
  
I paused, but my resistance crumbled, drawing a sigh from my throat. I just wasn’t cut out for saying no. Not to her. “Will you be drinking?”  
  
“Of course!” Vicky said, jumping to her feet with a grin. She knew I’d caved, and I hadn’t even said it yet. She could sense it. “But you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Nobody does. Believe it or not, you’re not the only teen who practices abstinence.”  
  
I chuckled, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Abstinence was too strong a word. And either way, I didn’t expect that attitude to last the night.  
  
“So you’ll come, then?”  
  
“Yes, Vicky,” I said, giving her a patient smile. “I’ll come.”  
  
“Awesome!” she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet as if I only weighed two pounds. Super strength. I felt a moment of the usual jealousy—her power was _way_ cooler than mine—but that turned to dread when I noticed the mischievous twist to her lips. “Now let’s pick out something nice. I’m gonna make you look your best tonight, or I’ll die trying.”  
  
I already regretted this decision.  
  
—————————————————  
  
And I only regretted it more once things got started.  
  
Dean was out front when we landed on the lawn, greeting guests. He was dressed casually, in store-faded jeans and a lame t-shirt with a stupid pun on it. “Vicky!” he said, holding out his arms. She put me down and they hugged, exchanging cheek-kisses. My self-control had been refined to a T over the years seeing this, but I was glad they restrained themselves to just the cheek. I might have vomited if they’d started making out again. “You made it.”  
  
_Thank you, Captain Obvious_.  
  
“Yep,” Victoria said, then grabbed my shoulders and pulled me forward. “Sorry I’m late, but I brought a plus one!”  
  
“So I see,” Dean said, turning to me.  
  
I raised my hands to cover my body as he looked me up and down. There wasn’t any actual perversion there, but I wasn’t naturally comfortable in dresses, even in private. My hands accomplished little though; my body was a little too big for them. So I was left shuffling in place, probably looking as awkward as I felt. “Hi.”  
  
“Hi,” Dean said, meeting my eyes— _ever the courteous one_ —and smiling his usual smile. The kind of smile you just wanted to punch off his stupid face. Or maybe that was just me. “You look nice.”  
  
“Thanks,” I said, barely able to keep the disgust from my voice. He frowned, a minuscule furrowing of his brow. He’d probably noticed the fluctuation in my emotions, and now wondered what he’d said wrong. I immediately berated myself. He was just trying to be nice. Even if he was clearly lying, there was no need to be a bitch about it. “Vicky picked it out,” I added lamely, gesturing in her direction. She’d no doubt be happy to take charge for a bit. I was already exhausted of being social.  
  
“Yup,” my sister chirped, planting fists on hips. “It was the tamest thing in my closet. She vetoed everything else—including heels.”  
  
_Tame, my ass_. As if the amount of leg and arm it showed wasn’t enough, the dress was a little too tight for my tastes, hugged my skin too closely. I couldn’t help but think it emphasised my worst features. For instance, my power kept my healthy, but it didn’t keep me _fit_ , and bulges and flabby bits were pretty damn noticeable in tight clothing. Victoria had assured me it was fine, that I looked good, but I just couldn’t bring myself to believe her.  
  
Wearing this thing was another one of those impulsive, instant-regret decisions I only ever made to see her smile. The only part of the dress I really liked was that it was hers. I could almost imagine her smell pervading the fabric, keeping me company. Keeping me safe. As stupid as that was. Especially since it had been washed thoroughly since the last time it had adorned her skin—whenever that was. I’d never actually seen her wearing it before, but she had a _lot_ of clothes.  
  
A cur pulled up at the curb, receiving a glance from Dean. “Well,” he said, smiling at us, “I’ve got to greet everyone else. You’re welcome to stay out here if you’d like, but if not…” He pointed back to his house. The building was already almost shaking with the noise. “…there’s food and drink in the kitchen, and the rec room is stocked with cards and board games. You know where the bathroom is. And you can stay the night if you’d like; I’ve got a pair of spare rooms upstairs set aside for the both of you.”  
  
Victoria snorted and leaned into his body, curling up against him. He put a hand on her back—a little too low for my tastes—and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fully, on the lips. I looked away. “You really think I’ll be using your _spare_ room tonight?” she purred, her voice husky and perfect, and a little too loud—I doubted she meant for me to hear that.  
  
I ignored the implication, and tried to picture what it’d be like if she were saying that to me. Doing that to me. It was a nice image. For a moment. Then I heard them kiss again, and it was gone.  
  
Vicky grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the house with her, waving back at Dean. Crossing the threshold was like stepping into another world, where shitty techno music was the go–to choice for ambience and wearing clothes two sizes too small was considered acceptable.  
  
My sister snaked through the sizeable crowd that had already gathered, dragging me behind her. She moved with purpose, though she couldn’t possibly know who was here already or where they were. We stopped in the kitchen. Vicky released my hand and hugged a girl from behind, yelling, “Surprise!”  
  
The girl shrieked. I tried not to feel jealous about the hug and how it must feel; Vicky hugged me all the time. I wasn’t entirely successful. “Vicky!” the girl groaned, turning in my sister’s arms while the people around her laughed. “I told you not to do that!”  
  
“Sorry,” Vicky said with a grin that belied her sincerity. “I couldn’t resist.” She pulled me forward, into the limelight. “This is my sister, Amy. She’s a first-timer.”  
  
The three others around us gave names and waved hellos, then Vicky swept them up into her storm, and their conversation bowed to her wants. She tried to include me, but the scene shifted faster than the weather. People left to find their other friends, and new people interrupted constantly, until we were surrounded by an entirely different group, despite having not moved an inch. And I knew none of their names.  
  
Vicky introduced me to some of her friends, like Katherine and Georgia and Renee and James, but they followed the same pattern. They would say something polite to me, then talk with Victoria until a distraction arose or they found something else to do.  
  
The girl Vicky had told me about earlier was dragged over to join us at one point. Meghan or Miley or Melissa or something starting with M. She actually talked to _me_ , not Vicky. But she just asked questions about my powers, getting me to touch her or other people and describe how parts of the body felt to me. She annoyed me. She seemed to catch on after a while, and started trying to talk about other things, but we clearly didn’t have a lot in common, and she left soon after.  
  
Some time during our conversation, Vicky had left me alone too, probably gone off to chatter and gossip with some of her girlfriends. Or girl friends, rather, emphasis on the space. My sister was straight as an arrow and just as oblivious. I’d tested extensively. That is to say, I’d filled the ‘recommended content’ sections of her favourite social media sites with pictures of scantily clad girls, by _looking at_ pictures of said girls whenever she left herself logged in—which was all the time.  
  
… It may not have been the most conclusive of tests. After all, it had yielded no discernible result, nothing visible to the human eye or to my touch. Not arousal or attraction, and not even suspicion about _why_ her feeds were filled with so many bikini models. Just plain old interest in the bikinis.  
  
And she’d probably be interested in them even if they weren’t being worn by beautiful women. So my machinations probably hadn’t affected anything. Not that it mattered either way. Even if it had awoken something, Vicky’s sudden discovery of her probably-non-existent lesbian side wouldn’t really solve anything for me. She’d still be disgusted if she knew.  
  
I shook my head, dismissing the worthless thoughts. With nothing better to do, and no clue where my sister had gone, I wandered about Dean’s house, observing the party-goers as they moved and interacted with a detached sense of boredom.  
  
Raucous laughter filled one corner of the lounge room—where the couches had been pushed back to the wall, leaving a big empty area in which people could mingle—and whispering gossip-girls another, while angry shouts and shoves erupted from a third. But all of it was drowned out by the mind-numbing thumping of the music, playing off one of those little speaker sets someone had plugged their phone into and turned up too high.  
  
I couldn’t stand it. So I went outside and found a seat in the garden, a nice smooth rock. It was a little better out here; but only a little. I could still hear the music, and there were still other people around. One trio shared cigarettes by the porch and chatted about inane bullshit like the latest episode of some TV show I’d never seen, and how some dumbass pop star had knocked up his girlfriend while high on cocaine. I tuned them out.  
  
Elsewhere, a couple sat beneath a tree on the lawn. They seemed to be playing cards, though I couldn’t make out the game from my rock. One girl lay alone, supine on the grass, making snow-angels—or she would have been if there was any snow, instead of just grass. Was she drunk already, or on drugs? Or was she just a straight-up weirdo?  
  
A car pulled up at the curb. A skinny girl exited the passenger side, a similar-looking man getting out of the driver’s. Her father? They talked for a minute, the girl growing visibly annoyed.  
  
“Taylor!”  
  
I turned. The voice belonged to a new girl who’d just came out from the house. She laughed-slash-squealed and hurried over to the skinny girl’s car. I couldn’t hear what else they said—not that I was particularly interested—but their conversation ended when the man got back into his car and left. The pretty girl pulled the skinny one with her into the house, off to join everyone else. The skinny girl didn’t look very happy at the prospect. I didn’t blame her; this whole thing wasn’t as fun as it was supposed to be.  
  
I picked up a pebble, turning it in my hands, inspecting the little imperfections on its surface, running my fingers along its smooth contours. I put it back down, then picked up another; a brown one. I traced the edges with my thumb. There was something soothing about pebbles, beyond the fact that I could touch them without getting flooded with information.  
  
I was still _getting_ that information, from the bacteria that surrounded me everywhere I went, from the ant that had come with the pebble, and from the fly that had just landed on my ankle. I’d learned to tune that out long ago, but it was still nice to touch things that didn’t require that acclimatisation. And I mean actually touch _with meaning_ ; not just touch in the everyday sense, like the clothes I wore or the floor I walked on.  
  
“Shit,” someone said from behind me. I turned and managed to jump back in time to avoid the messy, projectile vomit of a wobbly-legged teen as he sprayed the garden. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth and glanced at me. “My bad,” he said before collapsing in his own mess.  
  
Another boy stared at me with wide eyes. “Dude,” he said, nudging his friend with a foot without looking. His friend groaned. “I think you just threw up on _Panacea_.”  
  
I restrained my sigh. “It’s okay,” I lied, patting down my dress. It looked clean, and it felt it too. Both in the conventional sense and in my… more unique sense. “He didn’t get any on me, I think.” I squatted down and poked the vomit boy’s neck with one finger. He groaned again.  
  
He was fine. Nothing he needed me for. All the same, I gave him a minor fix-up and broke down what I could of the remaining vomit in his oesophagus, redistributing the nutrients through his body. I wasn’t sure why. Habit, maybe. It just felt like something I should do.  
  
“I’m really sorry,” his friend said. “He, uh, went a little overboard on the free pizza. He’s a bit of a cheapskate.”  
  
I stood and brushed off my knees, even though they weren’t dirty in any way. “I told you, it’s okay. And he’ll be fine. Just get him some water.”  
  
“Water. Right!” With that, the guy turned and hurried back into the house, quickly gone from sight.  
  
I glanced at his friend. He’d started laughing with wheezy breaths. Or maybe he was crying; it was hard to tell. I allowed myself a sigh and headed inside.  
  
—————————————————  
  
I drifted. Through the house, through the party, through the people. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do the same. I didn’t know anyone here, and Victoria hadn’t kept her promise. I hadn’t really expected her to, but her… abandonment… Well, it just kind of drove the point home: there was no place for me here.  
  
I wanted to leave, to go home. But at the same time, I didn’t. I may not have belonged here, but most days it felt like I didn’t belong there, either.  
  
In much the same way, I wanted to see Victoria, but I also didn’t. I had a good idea what I’d find. And I didn’t want to see that, to confront it again now, no matter how many times I’d seen it before.  
  
Everything blurred together. A haze of boredom and disinterest overwhelmed me. Faces faded, sounds were drowned out by nothingness.  
  
I found myself with a group of people I didn’t know, all of us just standing around in a hallway. I had no idea how I had arrived there. My hands held a plastic cup containing cola. It was full almost to the brim. In however long I’d been holding it, I’d not taken a drink. I didn’t feel the thirst.  
  
The people around me talked amongst themselves. Laughter was frequent. I stood and listened. They switched between topics at the drop of a hat. I remembered Victoria’s advice—I couldn’t make friends without speaking to people.  
  
So I tried. But most of the time, I had nothing to contribute.  
  
Occasionally a topic arose that I _did_ have something to say about, but they all moved on to the next before I could find the right words. And on those rare occasions when I _did_ manage to get a few words out, it was at the same time someone else spoke—someone with a louder voice and more charisma than me—and I was drowned out. Even the girls on their _phones_ were more active participants in the conversation than I was.  
  
It was frustrating. I soon stopped trying.  
  
The guy beside me bumped my arm, spilling cola onto my shoes—but thankfully not on Victoria’s dress. I shook my foot out, grumbling under my breath. He didn’t notice any of it. Nor did anyone else.  
  
I’d had enough of this. It just wasn’t working. I wasn’t clever enough or outgoing enough or fun enough or whatever it is that makes people like you, and I didn’t have the patience or stubbornness to get past it via pure will. This just wasn’t me.  
  
I withdrew without comment, and set out to find somewhere off the beaten path. Everyone here moved around in groups. If I found somewhere solitary to sit, somewhere I could be alone, I wouldn’t be bothered.  
  
Unless someone decided— _without_ Victoria’s prodding at every corner—to hit on me. That would be an interesting change of pace. But it would also never happen. Of all the people here, no sane girl—or guy, I suppose—would pick _me_ to hit on. Unless they were cape junkies, but… they’d probably just be intimidated. After all, I’d often been described as standoffish in Victoria’s celebrity gossip mags.  
  
I spotted a small, two-seater sofa in a corner of the lounge room—unoccupied. It looked comfy. I headed for it, going around the edges of the room and skirting the makeshift dance floor. The crowd had thinned out somewhat as people had grown hungry or horny and went to find food or a secluded spot in which to violate each other’s mouths.  
  
I reached the sofa… just as another girl arrived from the other direction. We stopped short, looking at each other. She looked vaguely familiar—not surprising, since she probably went to Arcadia.  
  
I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted to sit there on my own, but I couldn’t exactly tell her to fuck off. Even if that wasn’t a plain shitty thing to do, Carol would kill me. We were always meant to appear charitable and friendly. So…  
  
I smiled at her as best I could. I was never great at smiling, but I’d had lessons, so I could manage in a pinch.  
  
“You take it,” we said in unison.  
  
Silence.  
  
Okay, not silence. There _was_ a party going on around us. But neither of us two spoke or moved for a long while.  
  
“Seriously,” I said on auto-pilot. I wasn’t thinking about the words; they just came out of my mouth. “You take it. I can find somewhere else.”  
  
The girl gave a lopsided smile, tilting her head a fraction. I wish I knew how to read body language, to understand what that expression meant. My power doesn’t help with that as much as you’d think. “I can’t do that,” the girl said. “Besides, you got here first.”  
  
“No I didn’t,” I said, then thought, _What the fuck, mouth?_  
  
“Take it anyway,” she said. “It’s no trouble, really.”  
  
She turned to start walking away and, like an idiot, I grabbed her elbow. “Wait,” my bitch of a mouth said, taking matters into its own treacherous hands once again. “There’s—I mean, it’s a two-seater. So really, this whole conversation is stupid. Neither of us have to go anywhere.”  
  
She… huffed—a minor exhalation of air from her nostrils; a sort of almost-laugh, or almost-snort—and quirked her lips. “I don’t know if arguing about a chair really counts as a conversation.”  
  
I laughed—that’s the appropriate thing to do when someone makes a joke—but it came out as more of a nervous giggle and made me sound like a complete idiot.  
  
The girl turned around, and my hand dropped from her arm. “You don’t mind?”  
  
“No.” _Yes. Dammit._ “Not at all.”  
  
She looked at me for a moment. It seemed like she should have been pursing her lips in thought, but her expression didn’t change at all. Finally, she shrugged and said, “Alright,” then sat on the sofa.  
  
I sat beside her.  
  
Neither of us said anything else.  
  
I took a sip of my water and watched the other party-goers as they danced—badly, for the most part—in the clear space in the middle of the room and chatted in small groups around the peripherals.  
  
The girl beside me coughed quietly into her fist. Once. But other than that, she sat weirdly still, staring out across the makeshift dance floor at nothing I could locate. The only movement I could perceive out of the corner of my eye was the slow rise and fall of her breathing.  
  
And that was it.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
…for quite a while.  
  
My eyes were drawn toward a girl seated alone at a dining table across the room. She was pretty—from behind, at least—but that wasn’t why I noticed her. A boy had just walked up to her and tapped on the table, catching her attention. He smiled and said something. She laughed and said something back. A few more exchanged lines, a shaking of hands, and then the boy sat beside her, and they kept talking.  
  
I remembered Vicky’s advice again, from earlier in the night. About how I’d never make friends if I never spoke to new people.  
  
I looked at the girl seated beside me. She’d look better if she ditched the glasses, but she was pretty, in a unique sort of way. And tall. Even sitting down, I could tell she was taller than me by a good margin. She might even be taller than Vicky—provided my sister wasn’t cheating with her powers or high-heels. Vicky looked good in heels. This girl was wearing more nondescript sneakers, but actually, she’d probably look good in heels too. Long legs were good for those… or so I’ve heard.  
  
Of course, my imagination immediately jumped to an image of Vicky making out with this girl, the both of them wearing nothing but heels. _Good job, brain. You couldn’t even put me in there_.  
  
I shook my head. Point was… uh, actually, I don’t know what the point was. The girl was reasonably good looking—when compared to normal people, at least; so, people that weren’t Vicky. I could see myself talking to her. Being friends, maybe.  
  
On the other side of the fence, if I _didn’t_ talk to her, I could easily picture Vicky finding out somehow and admonishing me for ignoring her advice. And it _was_ good advice, really. Talking to her would be a great step! I just… well, saying I didn’t know how to do that would be an understatement.  
  
I’d read like a hundred blog posts on the net about making friends, but they were all pretty much useless. “Be yourself” and “smile a lot” were the most common tidbits of advice there. But you couldn’t carry a conversation on smiling. And I certainly couldn’t carry a conversation by _being myself_.  
  
Maybe… find something we had in common? That was common advice in Vicky’s magazines. They meant it more in regards to flirting, and I wasn’t really intending to flirt with this girl, but the principles should be pretty similar.  
  
Besides, I knew we had one thing in common already.  
  
Neither of us wanted to be here.  
  
_Yeah_ , I thought, taking a deep breath. _I can do this. No problem_.  
  
I didn’t give my brain time to object.  
  
“Hi,” I squeaked.  
  
It took her a moment to realise I was speaking to her. She turned to me—a little surprised, if her expression was anything to go by. “Sorry?”  
  
_Good job, Amy. You could run for president with those speaking skills_.  
  
Trying to keep the embarrassment off my cheeks, I cleared my throat and smiled again. It made me feel sickly. “Uh, hi, I said.”  
  
“Oh,” the girl said, then smiled after another moment’s pause. She had nice teeth. “Hi.”  
  
Quiet settled again. I shifted in my seat. It appears _hi_ is not, in fact, a magic word.  
  
“I’m Amy,” I said, holding out a hand.  
  
“Taylor,” the girl said, reaching out to shake my hand. The moment our skin touched, my power filled my head with junk. I sifted it absently, then paused as my power showed me the extra lobe in her brain. Or not-lobe. The one that parahumans had. She was—  
  
No. Nope, nope, nope. Not going there. I shoved that little tidbit out of my mind. She was a normal person. No need to complicate matters. Especially when this was so complicated already.  
  
The angle of our handshake was awkward—more for her than me, with the way her elbow knocked against the cushions. I felt inconsiderate. She didn’t seem to mind, but we kept the shake short, all the same.  
  
“Nice to meet you,” she added.  
  
“Oh,” I said, in my infinite wisdom. “Uh, yeah, nice to meet you too.” I bit my lip and cast a quick glance around the room, searching and not finding a conversation starter. It was only just occurring to me that ‘not wanting to be here’ _wasn’t_ one. That was mistake number… I dunno, twenty-seven, maybe.  
  
Different tactic, then. Ask her about herself. People are supposed to like that. Something about showing interest. “Do you go to Arcadia?” Dammit. Stupid question.  
  
“Yeah,” she said, then quieted again.  
  
Mistake number twenty-eight: asking yes-or-no questions. I needed to give her more to work with. I was just opening my mouth when she spoke again:  
  
“It’s not as nice as I thought it’d be.”  
  
“Arcadia? Uh… what do you mean? Did you transfer in?”  
  
The girl—Taylor—made a face, and as inept as I was, even I could tell I’d already fucked something up. “Yeah, from Winslow,” she said. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t—“  
  
“No, it’s okay. Just—I mean, if we’re going to talk, I’m sure there are better topics than _school_.”  
  
Quiet again. She was probably right. Not that—  
  
“Not that I can think of any,” she added with a smile.  
  
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t even that funny, but laughter wracked me as I curled in on myself. I tried to restrain it with little success. Stopping it completely was far, far beyond me.  
  
Years later, the tremors subsided, and I wiped tears from my eyes. Taylor sat with a little quirked grin on her face, like she was an inch away from laughing herself, though she clearly had better self-control than I did.  
  
“Sorry,” I said, then a residual giggle interrupted me. “I didn’t mean to upset you, before. I just—”  
  
“I told you, it’s okay,” Taylor chuckled, following it up with a quiet sigh and a moment of silence. Then, “I was bullied at Winslow. Just a little, nothing… serious. But I always kinda thought that stuff wouldn’t happen at Arcadia, you know?”  
  
I frowned. “Has someone—“  
  
“No, no-one’s bothered me. But I’ve seen it happening to other people, and it’s just… disappointing.”  
  
I quieted. I hadn’t seen anything like that, let alone been a target. Not since middle school, at least. But… I was Victoria Dallon’s sister, and _everyone_ knew it. Hurting me was a sure-fire way to piss her off. And she could fly and bench-press trucks, so pretty much everyone wanted to stay on her good side.  
  
“Sorry again,” I said, feeling a sudden surge of honesty, a desire to reciprocate. My secrets were a little more… damaging, so I didn’t have much to share, but… “I’m not very good at this,” I found myself saying. “Talking to people, I mean.”  
  
Taylor glanced my way and quirked another smile. “Neither am I,” she said. “I usually wind up with people who do all the talking for me.”  
  
“Exactly!”  
  
Taylor blinked. I did too, realising I’d jumped forward with my exclamation, invading her personal space more than a little bit. Right in her face, really.  
  
I jerked back, reining in my blush just as sharply. “Sorry.”  
  
“No, it’s okay,” Taylor said, brushing rich, curly hair behind an ear. “You just surprised me.”  
  
“Still, sorry. So, uh…” I fumbled for something else to say, and jumped on the first thing that came to mind, as vapid as it was. “What do you think of the whole party thing? I don’t get it, myself.”  
  
“Neither do I.” She paused to sigh. “Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m here. I wasn’t planning on coming. I don’t even think I was invited. Tonight was meant to be…” She shook her head and glanced at me. “Do you know who the host is? Because I have no idea. And I’ve been here for forty minutes.”  
  
I chuckled politely. “That’s Dean. Dean Stansfield. He’s my sister’s boyfriend. He probably invited me, but I’m only here because she begged me to come.” I gestured down at my body. “This dress is hers. She… coerced me into it. It looks a lot better on her.”  
  
“Well, I, uh… I think it looks good on you,” Taylor said, then smiled wryly. “Though I’ll admit, I don’t know much about fashion.”  
  
I blushed, like an idiot. She wasn’t hitting on me, just giving me a compliment. There was nothing special about that. “Thanks,” I said, surprising myself when I realised I actually _meant_ it. For some reason—maybe because she gave the compliment the same way I would have, had our positions been reversed—I trusted Taylor’s awkward sincerity. More than I’d trust any compliment from Dean or any of Vicky’s friends, or even from Vicky herself. I mean, Vicky’s compliments definitely made me feel like blushing more, but that was for different reasons entirely.  
  
“Dean Stansfield, you said? The name sounds familiar, at least. I’m going to assume he’s rich.”  
  
“Yeah. If your stereotypical rich kid and your stereotypical nice guy had a kid together, that kid would be Dean Stansfield. Don’t worry about not having an invite, by the way. I doubt half of these people do.” I nodded toward the throng mingling on the dance floor, waiting out the momentary respite between song changes. “It’s more of an ‘invite your friends’ kind of thing. Or a ‘just show up on the doorstep with beer’ kind of thing, I guess.” _What are you talking about, Amy? Shut up_.  
  
“Mm.” She turned back to watch the dancers as the next song began.  
  
_Fuck,_ I thought. _Why can’t I do this? Even the nerdiest kids at school can make friends; why can’t I?_  
  
Then it hit me. A way to engage this girl, and take some of the pressure off me—and her—to keep conversation going with nothing to focus on. Maybe a way to even have a little fun myself. God knows I could use it.  
  
“Hey, Taylor?” I said. She looked at me. “Uh… when I got here, Dean was out front, greeting people. He said they had a bunch of games laid out in the rec room. Like, board games, I think.”  
  
She nodded.  
  
“Anyway, I was wondering if you… uh, if you’d want to go have a look with me? It’s probably a lot quieter there, too. Less people. We could just…” I floundered, my hands flopping out of the air as I aborted my useless gestures. “…you know, see if there’s anything good to play?”  
  
Taylor blinked, but said nothing. Then she smiled, rich and wide. “Sure,” she said, standing and patting her jeans off. “That sounds like fun.”  
  
_Fuck. Yes_.  
  
—————————————————  
  
I bit my lip as Taylor rolled the dice. They seemed to bounce across the board in slow motion, spin on their corners for an eternity. But eventually they came to a stop.  
  
Two sixes.  
  
I threw my cards to the ground and groaned as dramatically as I could manage. Taylor fell onto her back, clutching her stomach as she laughed her ass off.  
  
“How do you do that every time?” I said.  
  
Taylor rolled over, still giggling, and moved her piece to the finish line. One tile ahead of me. She shrugged—a weird movement for someone lying on their stomach. “Pure skill.”  
  
I huffed. “You could at least try to be modest.”  
  
A grin split her cheeks as she gathered the dice up into her hands. “There’s a trick to it. You have to promise them things. For instance, this little guy—“ she held up one die between her fingers “—is twenty grand in debt to a real piece-of-work loan shark. And I figured I could pay that off with my winnings from our last game, if he gave me a good roll in exchange.”  
  
“Right, right, I understand completely now. The secret to victory is paying everyone else off.”  
  
“How dare you?” she said, giving me a scandalised look and patting the dice protectively. “At least call it bribery. It sounds so much classier.”  
  
I snorted—by accident, mind you—and stood to stretch. There was a few seconds of silence, but it wasn’t awkward anymore. More… companionable.  
  
“You wanna play that one again?” Taylor said. She glanced over to the stack of game boxes, built like a pyramid, with the biggest at the bottom. “Or we could dive into one of those. Preferably not one of the monsters.”  
  
“Something new, I think,” I said, then sighed in relief as the joints in my back and shoulders popped. “You can pick something out. I need a toilet break.” I moved to leave but stopped at the door, giving her a semi-stern look over my shoulder. “Nothing with dice.”  
  
Taylor laughed. “Nothing with dice,” she agreed, and turned back to the boxes.  
  
—————————————————  
  
I barely noticed how the next person in line nodded to me as I exited the bathroom; I just started down the hall, zigzagging absentmindedly between the scattered cliques. My mind was focused elsewhere: on Taylor. Because… I was actually enjoying myself. I was having _fun_. With someone who, until less than two hours ago, I’d never met before in my life.  
  
And best of all, _she_ was having fun too! Because of me! She was enjoying _my_ company in a way very few people ever had.  
  
I was making a friend, all by myself.  
  
An immense sensation of pride bubbled up inside me. A pitiful thing for a seventeen-year-old girl to be proud of, maybe, but this was a big milestone for me. Every last person in my social circle was _Victoria’s_ friend, not mine. That seems completely impossible, right? I thought so too, until I realised I was living it. The hospital staff were the sole exception, but the less said about them the better.  
  
I hoped Victoria would be proud of me too, when she found out what I’d accomplished tonight. She’d wanted me to do this, and I had. Oh, I could just imagine how her face would look when I invited _my friend_ to sit with us for lunch. Though Vicky could get pretty over-protective, and I wouldn’t want to risk her scaring Taylor away this early, so… maybe I’d better leave the formal introduction for later.  
  
Something materialised in front of me and I stopped short, physically and mentally. The hallway I’d used earlier was blocked by a big group of muscular guys wearing football jerseys. I’d almost walked right into them. No way was I going to push my way through a bunch of gym nuts. I turned and headed the long way round, intending to cut through the second living room.  
  
My eyes swept the room as I walked. I didn’t want to embarrass myself by _actually_ running into something. Almost every square inch was furnished with beanbags and comfy-looking chairs and couches. I kept to the edges of the room, away from the game of poker in the center area.  
  
That proved to be a mistake.  
  
I ended up with a direct line of sight to a makeshift alcove in the corner of the room, hidden away from most people’s sight. Within was the beanbag my sister was seated upon. Or more accurately, the beanbag _Dean_ was seated upon, with Vicky in his lap. They exchanged sloppy, noisy kisses and appreciative moans. There was an unusual bulge beneath Vicky’s shirt—a lump that moved around her chest region, contracting and expanding like it was squeezing something. His hand.  
  
I froze. For whatever cruel twist of fate, I couldn’t look away. I wanted to desperately, but I couldn’t.  
  
As I watched, Vicky gasped. Then she giggled and curled further into him, doubling down on her kisses. I saw another movement between their bodies. Near her crotch. Beneath her clothes.  
  
Then I realised I couldn’t see his other hand.  
  
That broke the spell. I snapped my head around and rushed out of the room. Before, I’d thought I’d throw up if I had to see them doing something intimate again. I was wrong. This felt worse. So much worse. The _idea_ of it was one thing. The reality was another.  
  
I dashed about the house, looking for someplace private before I lost it. A fit of desperation sent me to a linen closet, and I squeezed into the space between the shelves and the door, barely big enough for a person.  
  
Then I pulled the door shut, dropped to my knees, and cried.  
  
—————————————————  
  
It felt like hours before I emerged, my brain belatedly reminding me that Taylor was waiting for me. I had trouble making myself care. My elation, my pride, my happiness—everything Taylor’s company had birthed? It was all gone. Like a candle flame, snuffed out by the cold winds of reality.  
  
But I managed to muster up a dredge of determination. I’d started to build the foundation of a friendship with her tonight, and I couldn’t just throw that effort away because I was in love with someone I could never have. Because I was pathetic. I had to go back in there and smile and keep Taylor laughing and enjoying herself. Because if I didn’t, she’d have no reason to be my friend. And I needed a friend.  
  
I wasn’t convinced I could pull it off. But I was going to try anyway. I had to salvage _something_ from this misguided expedition. Provided she was even still there.  
  
I walked to the kitchen, keeping my head down, and stopped by the sink. I stared into my reflection in the pristine steel basin. My eyes were a little red, but they weren’t as bad as I’d expected. All the same, I gave my face a quick wash of water and squared my shoulders. Time to go back.  
  
The bottles on the counter caught my attention as I turned to leave. The rows upon rows of drinks of every variety, most brought by the guests. The two kegs mounted on the dining table. All that alcohol. And so much of it as yet untouched.  
  
I looked around, at the other party-goers. Every person I saw—even the dancers—held a cup or bottle in their hands, sipping from it intermittently. Alcohol was everywhere.  
  
I’d never had any. Not once. Not even when uncle Neil had offered to secret us a few sips of champagne on thanksgiving, years ago, though Victoria and Crystal and Eric had all leapt at the chance. I’d seen what alcohol could do to people. Inside and out. I could fix other people, but not myself, and I had no desire to ruin my liver that way.  
  
But… that kind of damage came from long-term abuse, not one-time affairs. And there had to be a reason so many people partook. I’d always wanted to know why. Apparently it was something _nobody_ could explain properly, even on the boundless expanses of the internet.  
  
_Fuck it_.  
  
I grabbed the biggest bottle and a pair of cups, then made my way back to the rec room.  
  
Taylor was still there. But a new group of people had showed up and started playing Monopoly in another corner. Well. There went any hope of privacy.  
  
I moved to sit across from Taylor. She looked up from the little instruction booklet she was reading for one of the games. “You okay?” she said.  
  
I paused. I’d expected her to comment on my tardiness, or maybe jump right into the next game, not… that. The excuse I’d constructed to keep things lively crumbled, as did my fake smile, despite my best efforts. “Yeah,” I finally said. “No. I don’t know. Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine.” I sighed. “Sorry I took so long.”  
  
“That’s okay,” she said, and waved the booklet at me as I poured myself a cup of whatever I’d grabbed. “I’ve been reading this thing. It’s got lots of little story bits in between all the rules. It’s pretty cool. What’s that?”  
  
It took me a moment to register her question. “I don’t know. Something alcoholic. I just grabbed it at random.” I threw her the extra cup. “Want to try it with me?”  
  
“I dunno. I’ve never drank before. Excluding sips of my dad’s beer, anyways.”  
  
“I’ve never tried _any_ of it. But I think now’s the perfect time to dip my toes in the proverbial river.” I nodded at the Monopoly players. “They’re all drinking. Seems to be working for them. Besides, I doubt I’ll get the chance again, after tonight. This is the first party I’ve been to since sixth grade, and probably the last.” I turned back to Taylor and sloshed the bottle around. “You don’t have to.”  
  
Taylor bit her lip. I thought she’d refuse, but then she snatched the bottle from my hands and filled her cup.  
  
Was that peer pressure? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t care enough to try and work it out.  
  
We took a long drink in sync. I emptied half my cup. The alcohol—whatever it was—did weird, tingly things to my throat and stomach. And it tasted indescribably awful, but that suited me perfectly.  
  
I coughed. “Shit.”  
  
Taylor coughed too, brows shooting up as her eyes widened comically. “Yeah.”  
  
The Monopoly players exploded into laughter, making me jump and nearly spill the rest of my cup on Taylor’s chosen game box. I glared around at them, and Taylor glanced over her shoulder. I leaned closer to her and said, “How long have they been in here?”  
  
“Ten or fifteen minutes, I think,” she said. “And before you ask, yeah, they’ve been pretty consistent as far as loudness goes.”  
  
Two of the players started arguing over a trade deal. I made a face. I was about ready to walk over and tell them to turn it down a notch when I remembered something. “I have a room here.”  
  
Taylor looked at me. “What?”  
  
“A spare room. I was told one had been, uh, reserved for me, so it’s probably empty.” I threw another glance at the Monopoly players, now giving a drum roll for someone who had landed on a chance tile. “Want to go check it out?”  
  
She nodded and we gathered up our crap, along with a pair of the smaller games, and made our way upstairs. A piece of paper was taped to one door in a hallway, reading “Amy.” I assumed that was referring to me.  
  
I pushed the door open and poked my head into the darkness. Empty. I fumbled at the wall for the light switch, but Taylor moved past me and found it with ease. The room wasn’t large, but it had an ensuite bathroom, and it was well-furnished with a little TV opposite a large double bed and an ornate wooden dresser. The bed looked very soft. I wanted to flop on it and just go to sleep, ignore everything else. But I’d never manage that. I had enough trouble sleeping under normal circumstances.  
  
Taylor sat cross-legged on the rug and popped one of her games open, then looked at me expectantly. I downed the rest of my cup and joined her.  
  
—————————————————  
  
Out of some misshapen desire to spice the game up a little, we added an additional rule: take a drink whenever you lost money.  
  
Perhaps not the smartest idea, seeing as we lost money a _lot_. And neither of us had a great alcohol tolerance; Taylor being skinny and me being short. But we persisted. Turns out we can both be more than a little competitive.  
  
It got to the point where I started missing minutes. As if I’d passed out for a while, but my body had kept playing and talking and moving on its own. I would come to in the middle of a turn, half-way around the board with a dozen new cards to use and no idea how I got there. Then I’d blank out again, and come to Taylor laughing and hiccuping over something that had happened, but I wouldn’t know what.  
  
Once, I found myself dancing. Soulful music blared from a speaker set on the bedside cabinet, and Taylor stumbled ungracefully along with me. We were both belting out the lyrics in our horrible, horrible singing voices and fumbling or missing half the words. We were loud enough that they could probably hear us downstairs. But I didn’t care, and neither did she.  
  
The song ended on a long, high note that neither of us could hit. We tried anyway, and it left us breathless and giggling at the way our voices cracked, grasping at each other’s arms for support. Then the next song came on. It was slower, gentler. Taylor swayed in time with the music, and I swayed too, not just because our hands were still joined.  
  
One of us took the opportunity to move our hands up into a more conventional formation; hers on my hips, mine on her shoulders. I couldn’t tell who had done it, and I didn’t mind. It was nice. But the music made me want to cry. I put my head on her chest and closed my eyes. She hummed along as we danced together.  
  
—————————————————  
  
The next time I came to, the two of us were sat at the foot of the bed and surrounded by pillows and cushions built in the shape of a fort, with a sheet suspended over our heads by some cleverly constructed pillars. I was pretty sure there hadn’t been enough pillows in the room for this.  
  
But as extensive as our creation was, there still wasn’t much space. So we squeezed close to each other, leaning in to keep our heads from hitting our makeshift ceiling. The bottle of alcohol sat between us, only half empty.  
  
Taylor was talking, her speech halting and slurred. I tried to focus. “…don’t know why. She was just diff’rent, y’know? ‘nd then she started being really mean to me. Said bad stuff ‘bout my m-mom and my dad and called me names and stuff. ‘nd her new friend push’d me over lots and tripped me and ruin’d my school work all the time and…” Her face contorted, and she leaned into me as she started crying. “She was my best friend.”  
  
I hugged her tight. “I’ve never had a best friend,” I said, my voice cracking halfway through the second word. I felt like crying again too, but I kept it at bay. “Y’know, my sister, she’s the ‘nly one who cares ‘bout me. My mom hates me. But m-my sister’s a-always there. I…”  
  
I swallowed past a lump in my throat and said something I never thought I’d say. “I love her. I-I mean, not like a sister, but like I want her to be my girlfriend, so we can kiss and sleep together and I can see her naked more and stuff and I don’t—I can’t—I h-hate it! It’s disgusting and gross and everyone’d hate me if they found out and she’d hate me too and my mom’d hate me even more and they’d lock me up and send me to hell or something I don’t know and I’m so scared that I’ll—that I’ll—“  
  
Taylor pushed me over and shook her head furiously into my chest. She looked up at me, her cheeks still wet. “N-no!” she said, rolling off me and crawling up alongside me. It was a tight fit. “You’re not gross! You’re nice and cool and good and nice and not gross or anything, so don’t say that, okay? I like you.”  
  
I stared at her. “You—I-I want to have s-sex with my sister,” I said, my words thick enough that I could barely understand them myself. “Y-you don’t think that’s gross?”  
  
She shook her head again, crawling up further until our heads were in line and we could look each other in the eye properly. My vision was blurry. She hugged me, and it felt like I couldn’t breathe. “S’okay,” she sobbed into my shoulder. “I d’nt care. S’okay. There’s n’thing wrong with you. S’okay.”  
  
I couldn’t hold it any more. I cried. We both cried, long past what would be sensible. It formed a self-fulfilling loop of tears and sympathy. There exists some magical link between crying girls; a law that says you can’t sit there and watch someone cry without feeling it yourself. So when one of us finally cried herself out, we’d see the other still going, and then it would start all over again.  
  
But we had a limited supply of tears. Eventually we were reduced to sniffling into each other’s hair. With the release came an almost-clarity, and I realised how close we were, physically.  
  
We lay with our bodies pressed together, our arms wrapped around each other the way a drowning man would clutch at a log. The sheet ceiling of our pillow fort had collapsed onto us, constricting our movement. Our legs were tangled; her jeans felt coarse against my skin. I could feel and hear every minute movement she made, from her breathing and sniffling to how her fingers brushed against my back.  
  
This was making me self-conscious. But I didn’t dare move away. The drowning man analogy was apt. It was stupid, but the thought of moving terrified me. She was my anchor, keeping me from getting washed away in self-pity and self-loathing. And beyond that… not even Vicky had ever held me so tightly. It was impossibly comforting. I relished in the closeness.  
  
Somehow I shifted an inch closer, relieving a discomfort in my back I hadn’t realised was there. Taylor froze. Even her breathing stopped. I froze too, holding position for a moment while my courage built. Then I tilted my head up.  
  
Our eyes met.  
  
Hers were red and bloodshot, the passage of tears evident in the wet streaks that ran down her cheeks. We stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity. But neither of us said a word, or made a sound.  
  
Then I kissed her.  
  
I couldn’t explain why. A petty part of my mind said Vicky was off enjoying herself and I should get back at her however I could, and another part of me said the best way to get over her was to find someone else, but… both were wrong. I kissed Taylor because I wanted to. Because it just felt right in a way beyond words, as cliche as that may be. Though that may be the alcohol talking.  
  
Whatever the reason, I let my desire pour out of me and, through our connection, into her as we kissed over and over and over and over. Our bodies pressed together even tighter, if that were possible. We moaned into each other as I sated a need I’d never acknowledged.  
  
If I could have changed both our bodies to not require oxygen, I would have done it, to allow us to kiss for longer. Regrettably, I could not, so we were forced apart often by a mutual need for breath. But I made sure those breaks were not long-lasting. Each time I pulled back her eyes grew increasingly glazed and droopy, and drool began to splatter her cheeks and mine.  
  
She mumbled my name into our kiss more than once. At some point her hands moved to my neck, where her thumbs traced my jaw gently. Her glasses bumped against my face, slowly getting pushed up over her head. I was surprised to find my own hands at her waist, unzipping her jeans with spectacular imprecision. I pulled them off. She shimmied and wiggled to facilitate their removal. I kicked them away, sending our ceiling-sheet with them and leaving Taylor’s naked legs fully in the light, where they entwined with my own bare legs. Her skin was soft and warm.  
  
Her hoodie and top were more annoying to deal with. I had to bring them up over her head, forcing her hands from my skin and my mouth from hers. A part of me wished I could just tear through them and not suffer the interruption, but I didn’t have Victoria’s power, and— _No_. _Don’t think about her. Not now_. I rushed through the undressing, not savouring it at all. I wasn’t in that kind of mood.  
  
After she was down to her underwear, I let my hands wander. For a moment. Then I moved on to my dress. The zipper was awkward to reach, situated in the middle of my back. But I managed it, and slid the dress from my shoulders. I threw it to the side without breaking our kiss.  
  
Then went my underwear. And hers. She shuddered when I pulled her panties off. My fingers may have lingered longer than they strictly needed to. I tried to kiss my way down her neck, but it was awkward, pushed up against the bed and surrounded by pillows as we were.  
  
I grabbed her hand and stood. She stumbled to her feet, catching herself on me to keep from falling. I felt her nipples brushing my skin before she pulled away. My eyes followed.  
  
“Whoa!” she said. I looked up. Her eyes were wide as she stared down at my body. “You’re naked!” My cheeks coloured, then Taylor looked down at herself. “ _I’m_ naked!”  
  
I giggled, leaning up against her again. I wrapped my arms around her neck and kissed her, going onto my tippy-toes. She kissed back after only a moment’s pause. With stumbling steps, I attempted to guide us onto the bed, but my eyes were closed and my sense of direction was shit. We bumped into a dresser, then into the bedside cabinet, jostling the lamp and alarm clock, before ending up against the wall, flesh pressed against flesh.  
  
Her hands came down to my hips slowly, hesitantly. My skin prickled at the touch. I grabbed her butt—to which she said, “Eep!”—and pulled her toward the bed. We bumped the cabinet again. The alarm clock fell and hit my ankle, and I hissed in pain even as we reached the bed and collapsed sideways. My foot wound up kicking the lamp off too. But I didn’t hear anything break, and I couldn’t afford the distraction as Taylor turned aggressive.  
  
She rolled on top of me, kneeling over my stomach, and bent down to pepper me with short, pleasing kisses that made me forget the pain in my foot. Our mouths would meet, then she would pull away _just_ far enough and say my name in a breathy voice that only made me wetter, and then she’d be back again, sharing saliva. I got swept up in her rhythm, and soon I was panting her name every other time she pulled away.  
  
I brought my legs up and enjoyed with her body with my hands. One slid up her ribs and played with her nipples while the other made gentle, tentative probing movements at her pussy, soft and wet and fever-hot. She shuddered and gasped against me, bringing a grin to my lips. This was good for my self-confidence. When I started fingering her properly she collapsed on top of me, legs splayed and quaking, unable to maintain her barrage of kisses.  
  
I took up the slack. We rolled over again, this time with me on top. I kissed down her neck to suckle at a nipple and kept playing with her pussy. She wrapped her arms and legs around me, gasping and whimpering and crying my name. Yeah, this was fucking _great_ for my confidence. Taylor’s hands pulled me away from her chest and into a deep kiss as her hips spasmed against my fingers. When we broke apart she splayed out flat, panting hard, the bed-sheet twisted into knots beneath her hands.  
  
_Did she just…_ I pushed her further up the bed and held her legs up, leaning down to inspect my handiwork. Her pussy glistened with wetness, further juices splattering her thighs and running down her butt. _Holy shit, she came. I did that? Holy shit._ I bent down further and gave her pussy a long lick from bottom to top, tasting her most intimate flavour.  
  
I should have waited for her sensitivity to normalise. Her legs jerked closed reflexively and her shin smacked into the side of my head. Hard. I rolled to the side with a groan and massaged my temples. Taylor crawled up alongside me a minute later. “Are you alright?” she said, dropping her head to my chest.  
  
I ran a hand through her hair and nodded slowly. “I’m fine.”  
  
Taylor smiled, and opened her mouth to speak, but then her eyes locked onto my breasts, watching as they rose and fell with my breathing. Her gaze flickered back up to me for a moment, then she brought her hands up to play with my meagre boobs, squishing and squeezing and rolling them in circles and pinching at my nipples. I groaned again, this time in a good way. Taylor’s smile became a grin. “What should I do?” she said before latching her teeth around one of my nipples and tweaking it with her tongue.  
  
“Whuh?”  
  
Taylor released my nipple with a _pop_ , but she didn’t stop playing with my breasts. “How do I do you? I don’t really know how this works for girls. Just fingers?”  
  
“Um, co— _aah_ , stop please.” Her hands stopped. I bit my lip, a little afraid to ask what I wanted to ask. “C-could you lick me?”  
  
“Down there?” Taylor glanced down at my crotch. “Uh, I can try, I guess.” She slid down as I closed my eyes. I felt hands pushing my legs apart, and spread them despite my embarrassment. I covered my face with my hands.  
  
I felt her fingers prodding at my pussy, circling it gently. Her breath on my skin, cool against the wetness. I shivered. Her fingers pried me apart gently, then I felt a hesitant tongue push its way inside, warm and rough. I gave an appreciative moan, and she twisted it inside me, pushing deeper before curling upward. Then she withdrew from me. I waited, but nothing else came.  
  
“Um,” I said, opening my eyes. Taylor was facing away from me, her eyes squeezed tight as she held a hand to her mouth and took deep, slow breaths. “What’s wrong?”  
  
She shook her head. Another deep breath, then she swallowed and turned back to me part-way. “Sorry,” she said through her hand. “I don’t think I can do that. I don’t want to throw up on you.”  
  
Dismay pummelled me. Did I taste that bad?  
  
“I don’t think—ugh, yeah, those drinks aren’t sitting right with me.”  
  
Oh. Okay. _Thank fuck_. “That’s alright,” I said, dropping my head back down to hide my disappointment.  
  
She crawled up to lie beside me, putting her arms around me and running her fingers across my belly. It tickled. My hand moved to her hip. “Sorry.”  
  
I shook my head against hers. Then a thought occurred to me. “I could prob’ly clear it up for you,” I said. “The alcohol.”  
  
She blinked at me. “How?”  
  
“Flush your… uh, your thingy. The place where drinks go. Put it in your bloodstream or whatever. I think my powers can do that.”  
  
“Powers?”  
  
I sat up and looked at her. “Uh, yeah, powers. I’m Panacea.”  
  
She blinked again. “Shit. Amy Dallon, duh. I did not put that together.”  
  
I stared at her for a long moment, then collapsed in laughter. I heard her start laughing too, but I could only clutch at her shoulders helplessly. One of the few still-functioning parts of my brain tried to tell me this was great, a confirmation that she liked me for _me_ —not for Panacea or her powers—but I didn’t have the sense of mind to listen.  
  
I wiped tears from my eyes once I calmed down, lying with my body pressed against hers. She cleared her throat. “Can you do that to yourself?” she said.  
  
“Do what? The alcohol thing?” She nodded. “Nope. My powers don’t work on myself.”  
  
“Then don’t do it to me. I’m not gonna let you be the only drunk one.”  
  
That was kinda stupid, and disappointing: she couldn’t give me oral now. But it was oddly sweet too. I snuggled up closer.  
  
“Is there something else I could do for you?”  
  
I thought about it. She could always just use her fingers. It’s not like I was an oral elitist or anything. But—oh. Maybe… “I’ve watched a lot of lesbian porn.”  
  
“Good to know.”  
  
I flushed. “I mean, they use toys a lot, like vibrators and dildos. And strap-on ones. That could be fun.”  
  
“Do we have any of those?”  
  
“Um… probably not. But I could, uh… I could make one on you. Like a strap-on but… y’know, part of you, so you could feel it.”  
  
She was quiet for a moment. “You mean, like, grow me a penis?”  
  
“I guess,” I said, shifting in place. Maybe it was a weird thing to want, but I couldn’t count how many times I’d gotten off to the image of Victoria pounding me into the ground. I didn’t understand why, but it was seriously hot.  
  
“That sounds weird.”  
  
I flushed. Of course, I shouldn’t have—  
  
“How long would it last?”  
  
Uh… “Just for a bit. I can get rid of it after.”  
  
Quiet again. “Could you make my boobs bigger?”  
  
Now it was my turn to be surprised. “Uh, yeah.” I focused my power on her, checked her body for extraneous fat. “Probably not at the same time though.”  
  
“Can you do that first?” she said, sitting up and pulling me with her. “Just for a minute?”  
  
I nodded. It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but she seemed willing, and experimenting could be fun. I converted unneeded fat from her belly and thighs, moving it all to her chest—enough to make her noticeably thinner, but not endanger her in any way. Her breasts swelled and grew from AA-cups to small C’s.  
  
Taylor squealed like a schoolgirl and jumped on me, giving me an almost bone-crushing hug and making me squawk. Her breasts bounced around distractingly, and squished into my face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said. “This is so cool.” She pulled back and grinned down at me, bringing her hands up to cup her new breasts. “Want to play with them?”  
  
Her smile was infectious, and quieted my impatience. I reached out to juggle her boobs. She laughed; it was probably a new feeling for her. I scooted closer to appreciate my handiwork in detail. Strategic squeezes and nipple tweaks and kisses had her moaning and writhing beneath me. I grinned around a mouthful as an idea hit me.  
  
I reached out with my power and tweaked the sensitivity of her breasts. Then I ran my tongue around her nipple. She shrieked and jumped, her fingernails digging into my back as the shriek became a drawn-out, shaky moan. I teased both nipples at once and she whimpered, lifting off the bed to wrap herself around me completely. I couldn’t support her weight, and we fell back to the sheets together.  
  
Her breath came in short gasps. It was immensely arousing in a way that’s hard to explain. My impatience peaked, and my hand moved of its own accord, down to finger my own pussy. I reset her sensitivity—I wasn’t feeling generous enough to give her _two_ orgasms without any in return. “Can we do the next bit?” I said as I squirmed. “I can’t wait much longer.”  
  
Taylor sat up and shook her head, eyes blinking into focus. She wiped a bit of drool from her chin. “Can I have the boobs again later?”  
  
I nodded. I had to admit, they _were_ pretty fun to play with. “Anytime you want.”  
  
She grinned. “Go ahead,” she said and spread her legs for me, revealing a sopping wetness. I wanted to eat her out too, but that could wait for later. _I_ needed to get off now. At this point, it wouldn’t take much, but some animalistic part of my mind wanted her inside me. Properly.  
  
So I moved the extra mass from her chest to her crotch and gave her a penis, trying to mimic the internal design from biology textbooks and my somewhat hazy recollections of the men I’ve touched. Extra skin formed to cover the mass that extended outward, using her clitoris as a base. I converted an ovary into a pair of testes but excluded the scrotum, instead leaving them inside with a tweak to keep them from getting too hot.  
  
On a whim, I added ridges and thin, fake veins to the sides. They must put those on sex toys for a reason, after all. I left the urinary tract where it was and made it permanently erect; she wouldn’t have it long enough for such things to matter. I made a few finishing touches, then sat back to see how I’d done.  
  
_Whoa, okay_ , I thought. _That is_ not _right. Not even_ close.  
  
I spent a minute or two tweaking and correcting errors until I was satisfied. It looked right, and it should feel and perform right too. I was very pleased with myself. Another weird thing to be proud of.  
  
“It looks kinda small,” Taylor said, staring down at it.  
  
“I can tweak that once I’m comfortable,” I said. “I don’t wanna start with something too big.”  
  
Taylor nodded, flashing a grin at me. “You’re smart.” I flushed. Taylor poked at her new appendage. “It’s kinda embarrassing, though. How do we do this?”  
  
“Uh…” I shuffled over and moved her legs a bit, then kneeled over her hips. I wrapped my arms around her neck and met her eyes. She had nice eyes. “Ready?”  
  
She nodded. I reached down to ensure things were angled correctly, then lowered myself onto her. It slid right in. Easy peasy. _Maybe it_ was _a little small…_ A simple tweak and it tripled in length, pushing right up into my very core. Taylor went a little cross-eyed. “Whoa,” she said. “That felt _weird_.”  
  
“Yeah,” I said, fighting to breathe. That was a little _too_ big for me. Incredibly uncomfortable, and more than a little painful. I shrunk it a bit and kept tweaking until I found the perfect size for me, but even then I had to wait a few minutes for the pain to fade to a manageable level. “Okay. I think we’re good now.”  
  
Taylor nodded again, and I started moving up and down slowly. It was a weird feeling, but a pleasant one. With each thrust I got more used to it, and it began to feel good. _Really_ good. She went so deep into me I half thought she was about to hit something important. She didn’t, but she did hit spots in me I hadn’t known existed. One such spot made me squeak and jump enough to fall onto my back, but Taylor followed me down. She wore a grimace of concentration on her face.  
  
“Whus is?” I said. Apparently I couldn’t speak properly.  
  
“You feel really good,” she said, somehow understanding me. Her voice was strained. “I don’t know how to… It’s really hot and slippery and… tight. Crazy tight. I’m trying not to come.”  
  
A blush reddened my cheeks again. I circled her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. “You don’t have to do that,” I breathed into her ear. “You can come whenever.” She pulled back. Our eyes met. “Now fu—“ _Oh, dammit. You chicken out there? Say it._ “Now fuck me, Taylor.”  
  
She did as I asked. She started thrusting into me herself, building up speed, power, until the bed shook beneath us. She was breathing hard, and so was I. Fleshy slaps and wet squelches filled the air as she entered me again and again, driving me past the point of coherent thought.  
  
All I could hear were our moans and grunts and the noise of sex. All I could smell was her. All I could feel was her. To say the world fell away except for the two of us would not be inaccurate. My eyes locked on hers, unable to look away. Not that I wanted to. I pulled her down for more kisses, and then all I could taste was her too. She continued to pound into me, each thrust drawing me closer to the edge of orgasm.  
  
Her expression grew more strained, teeth grit and brow furrowed. She brought a hand down to my pussy, our connection, and teased my clit. My legs tightened involuntarily around her hips, my fingers dug into her shoulders hard enough to draw blood. She did it again and my mind abandoned me.  
  
The pleasure overwhelmed me. Fire ran in my veins. I moaned; she panted. I writhed and bucked against her, desperate as I was for that release. Then she hit the magic spot again, and I came around her with a wail, biting down on her shoulder in some futile attempt to quiet it. She cried out too as she climaxed, her hot cum shooting deep inside me. Both our bodies shuddered from head to toe, and even after the orgasm itself had passed, my legs continued to twitch and shiver.  
  
Taylor collapsed on top of me, eyes bleary. She gave a lazy grin as one hand found mine, fingers intertwining. “That was amazing,” she sighed. I grabbed her for another kiss. She moaned appreciatively and nuzzled my neck. “And… exhausting…”  
  
I opened my eyes. Taylor’s were closed, her breathing slow and quiet, her exhalations tickling my skin. She was still inside me. But I didn’t have the energy to move my _own_ body, much less hers. And my brain wasn’t working well enough to remove what I’d grown on her.  
  
I felt strange in that quiet aftermath. Almost as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, something ethereal and heavy. I found myself crying for no reason I could comprehend, but it wasn’t a bad cry. I let it run its course.  
  
When I was done, my eyes felt droopy. I didn’t have a pillow or a sheet, but… I _really_ didn’t want to move.  
  
Fuck it. None of that mattered, not now. I had everything I needed right here.  
  
I turned and snuggled into Taylor’s arms. Sleep took me swiftly.  
  
For once, I dreamed good dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke, and couldn’t suppress a groan.  
  
The first thing I noticed was the way my head throbbed; a dull, almost rhythmic pain. There was an ache between my legs too—one I didn’t think I’d ever felt before—but I dismissed it as just a weird cramp. The human body was weird. You can trust me on that one.  
  
I opened my eyes, only to squeeze them shut immediately. The light was on, and I was facing the window—curtains tied open. The light was bright and uncomfortable, even against my eyelids. I groaned again. The wind whistled through the window, and I shivered as I noticed how _cold_ it was, how my skin was peppered with goosebumps.  
  
I sensed warmth behind me. I turned over to seek it, and felt my naked skin slide against someone else’s. My power activated by itself as it always did, flooding—or more accurately, refreshing; I _had_ already been in contact with this girl, I just hadn’t realised—my mind with all the tiny details of her body’s biological composition.  
  
I ignored the lot of it and froze. I could hear the girl—Taylor! That was her name. I could hear Taylor’s breathing, and I could feel it too. She lay on her back, her head turned my way, and my movement had put _my_ head into the crook of her arm—so every time she breathed, I felt it on my hair.  
  
Belatedly, my brain reminded me of what had happened the night before, and my cheeks burned with mortification.  
  
I’d just had a one-night-stand. I’d just lost my virginity. I’d just _had sex_ with another girl! I could hardly believe it, for about a million billion different reasons.  
  
My emotions ran amok on the battlefield that was my brain, elation and panic each digging trenches and turning their efforts to chemical warfare. I wanted nothing more than to climb onto a rooftop and announce my progress to the world, but at the same time I just wanted to dig a hole and curl up inside of it for the rest of my life. I wanted to roll on top of Taylor and have sex with her again because holy shit was it fun, but at the same time I would’ve given anything to just straight-up vanish from this room.  
  
But I couldn’t do any of that. So instead I lay there in silence, as still as something that doesn’t move very much, and took deep breaths until my heart decided to take its foot off the damn accelerator.  
  
How the actual shit do normal people have sex so frequently? It’s so fucking _embarrassing_!  
  
I opened my eyes—slowly. It took me a moment to acclimatise to the brightness, but then I could see. I looked up at Taylor’s face. She looked… I don’t know, serene? Relaxed? She looked like any sleeping person did—the exact opposite of how I felt right this second. I blew a few strands of her curly, splayed out hair away from me as my eyes trailed down her face.  
  
She had a nice nose. That might be a weird thing to say about a person, but it was true. Her lips were a little funny looking, wide and thin and pale. I stared at them, and remembered the way we’d kissed last night, how enjoyable _that_ had been. I wanted to do that again too, but I wasn’t going to do it while she was _asleep_. Not that I’d do it if she woke up, either. Just the _idea_ of it was horribly embarrassing.  
  
I looked down, my eyes stopping at her chest. I watched her breasts rise and fall as she breathed, peaked by her nipples. They weren’t very big at all. Really, calling them small would almost be an understatement. But they did look soft, and I remembered playing with them last night. I wasn’t sure if they were meant to be that size or if I’d reduced them when I… uh…  
  
_Oh god_.  
  
Taylor smacked her lips sleepily and rolled onto her side a bit more, facing me. Something bumped against my stomach. Something hard.  
  
_Oh god_.  
  
I looked down slowly. I’m not sure why. And I’m not sure why I called it a ‘something,’ either: I knew exactly what it was. Not only could I _feel_ it—both physically and through my power—but I suddenly remembered _putting it there_.  
  
My eyes landed on it. I stared.  
  
It was still erect, of course. I’d made it that way. That may have been a bad idea—it looked… painful—but clearly it wasn’t the only bad idea I’d acted on last night. An embarrassing heat built in my loins as I watched it throb in tune with Taylor’s heartbeats.  
  
I actually did that. I gave a girl a penis. A _cock_. For the express purpose of _fucking me with it_.  
  
I actually did that.  
  
I can’t believe I actually did that.  
  
And she was _okay with it_?!  
  
I mean, that’s great—I’ve wanted to try it for longer than I can remember—but… god, it made me feel like a pervert. Like I’d corrupted her or something. Because seriously, what kind of fetish is that? A girl that likes to get fucked by other girls with dicks? And that was how I lost my _virginity_?  
  
I was a bad lesbian.  
  
And there was definitely something wrong with me.  
  
I reached down and tapped it. It jerked slightly at my touch. I paused, but my curiosity got the better of me and I wrapped my fingers around the shaft. It was very warm. I remembered how it had entered me last night, how good that had felt. I swallowed and ran my hand up and down the shaft a few times. Taylor groaned and shifted closer to me, one arm going over my side.  
  
I froze again—I’d somehow forgotten she was there. Then I blushed with my entire being, realising what I’d just been doing. My hysteria made itself known again. I let go of her, then slid out from under her arm and crawled off the bed, trying to keep myself under control. I wasn’t as quiet or careful as I could’ve been, but considering the circumstances, I don’t think you can hold that against me.  
  
I took a moment to gather myself, rubbing my arms and legs together to fight off the cold. Then I glanced down at the bed. There was a noticeable damp patch beneath where I had been lying, and a few somewhat less noticeable splotches elsewhere on the sheets. Bodily fluids. Evidence of sex. Taylor smacked her lips again and rolled over, the cock I’d given her bouncing against her legs distractingly. I could see her pussy through her legs, just barely.  
  
I stared. As odd as it might seem for someone in my position, I’d never actually seen someone else’s vagina in real life—at least, not with my eyes, and not since puberty. Taylor’s looked… oddly alluring. Despite what smut fiction liked to say, Taylor’s pussy didn’t look anything like a flower, at least not from this angle. But I hadn’t really expected that to be accurate, as I’d seen my own plenty of times, and I’d never describe myself that way. It _was_ , however, weirdly pretty, judging by how little I could see with her legs closed the way they were. I licked my lips as I stared, memories trickling back, feeling myself grow wet.  
  
I took a step toward her—then stopped and sank to my heels, putting my head in my hands. I tried not to think of what I was just about to do. Any of it. It was so pathetic. I didn’t think I was so… _starved_. I masturbated all the damn time. I thought I was doing it too much! How could I still be so damn _horny_?  
  
Was it a teenager thing? Please let it be a teenager thing.  
  
I wanted to grab a pillow and scream into it, but I couldn’t do that without waking Taylor up, and I _reeaaally_ didn’t want to deal with that. I mean, what the fuck are you supposed to say to someone you’d just had sex with? “Good morning”? “Thank you for the sex”? “See you ‘round”? Yeah, right.  
  
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I’d grown a fucking _dick_ on her! Consensually, maybe, but still. Carol would kill me if this got in the papers somehow. I’d have to— _Oh, fuck me_. I’d told her about Vicky! How could I have—What made me think—What the fuck was _wrong_ with me?  
  
I groaned into my hands, rocking back and forth. I wanted to just roll over and die. But I couldn’t do that, oh no, that would be too easy. I had to deal with this somehow. I pinched my cheeks as hard as I could—slapping would have been too loud—and bit down on my instinctive hiss of pain. I had to deal with this.  
  
So. First things first: I had to get rid of the, uh… the elephant in the room, you might say. The penis. It had to go. Before she woke up, preferably. If I played my cards right, maybe I could convince her she imagined it. Maybe I could convince her she imagined the whole thing! But… no, she was pretty obviously naked, and _I_ was pretty obviously naked. I should probably get dressed, too. But there was no way I could get _her_ dressed—and cleaned up, for that matter—without her noticing.  
  
Though I could always _make_ her forge—  
  
I cut that thought off at the knees, but not soon enough to avoid the crushing guilt that followed it. Even _thinking_ that was… was…  
  
I wasn’t going to do it, obviously. And, shit, now that I thought about it, I couldn’t even do my other idea and get the thing off of her before she woke up! I’d had permission to put it there last night. But I didn’t have permission to remove it now.  
  
I think. I don’t know. Did I? Did it even matter? Would removing it be a bad thing? I’d be surprised if she wanted it to be a permanent addition. And I felt like I’d mentioned something about removing it last night, once we were done with it. Part of our original agreement to putting it there? Would… No, that agreement wouldn’t be valid. She was under the influence, and it hadn’t been formal in any way. It wouldn’t hold up in court.  
  
I paused. Then I curled in on myself, snickering as I imagined Taylor suing me for removing the damn thing without her permission.  
  
Then I realised what I was thinking about and pinched my cheeks again. I had to focus! Why couldn’t I focus? All I could think about was stupid shit like that. And how weird the thing looked on her without a scrotum and testicles. And how much weirder it would look if I made it glow green and gave it googly eyes.  
  
I paused.  
  
Was this what panicking felt like?  
  
I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing; I’d read that helped.  
  
And it did. As I breathed, the random, nonsense thoughts that tied up my brain were swept away like cobwebs before a broom, leaving my mind clear to think… but only for a moment.  
  
Clarity was a double-edged sword. Not long after achieving it, I remembered the situation I was in, and found my clarity being abandoned again in favour of horrific imaginations of being condemned by Vicky and Carol and Aunt Sarah and Taylor and everyone else for being such a disgusting pervert, all while the internet as a collective started a petition to put my face in the dictionary next to “deviant whore.”  
  
God, this was how my day was _starting out_? Sex is _so_ not worth it. I’ve been awake like five minutes and it’s already the worst disaster of my _life_! I seriously couldn’t think how it could get any worse.  
  
Then someone knocked on the door, and it opened on silent hinges.  
  
“Rise and shine, Ames!” my sister said.  
  
I leapt from the floor and slammed the door shut, catching Victoria’s hand in it. Then I groaned as my head spun—I’d moved way too quickly for comfort.  
  
“Ow!“ Victoria said—on reflex; there was no way that had actually hurt her—as she pulled her fingers out from under the door, letting it close all the way. “What the he—” A pause. “Whoa, hold up. There was someone on that bed. But… you just closed the door.”  
  
“W-what?” I said. “No I didn’t. T-that was the wind.”  
  
“…I’m pretty sure it was a guy.”  
  
“You’re wrong!” My voice sounded more than a little wild. “I—I didn’t—That’s not—”  
  
I heard Taylor groan and shift on the sheets. “Whu’s happening?”  
  
My cheeks burned. My mouth continued to work soundlessly. I felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. I very purposefully didn’t look at the bed—or its occupant.  
  
Victoria was quiet for a second. Then, “Holy shit,” she said. “Holy _shit_ , Ames! You are _so_ telling me the deets later!” She laughed, and I heard her footsteps as she ran down the hall, away from the door.  
  
There was silence.  
  
“Um…”  
  
Taylor.  
  
I sank to the floor, hiding my important bits with the rest of me. It felt like the redness in my face should’ve gone down to my ankles.  
  
More silence.  
  
Taylor yelped. “Um!” she said. “There’s a thing on my… uh…”  
  
I closed my eyes and tried to imagine I was in a magical land with fairies and unicorns and other happy shit.  
  
It didn’t work.  
  
There was _more_ silence. We must have been using up the entire world’s daily supply.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
I groaned into my knees. “You remember?”  
  
“Uh… yeah…”  
  
“H-how much of it, exactly?”  
  
“…A lot.”  
  
“Does that include—”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
I cupped my hands around my mouth and breathed deep breaths, trying to stop myself from hyperventilating. That didn’t work either. _Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit_ —  
  
“I need to pee.”  
  
Her voice knocked me out of my spiral. I sniffled and pointed to my right. “E-ensuite,” I said.  
  
“Yeah, I can see it, but, um… do you, uh… do you think you could get rid of this thing? I’m kind of used to, uh… peeing like a girl, I guess? And it’s… kinda uncomfortable.”  
  
I glanced up. Taylor was looking at me and rubbing her head with one hand, squinting against the light. She sat cross-legged with a pillow between her legs, covering everything up. Her cheeks glowed a fiery red. At least I wasn’t alone in my shame.  
  
“Right,” I said, sniffing again. “Sorry.” I started waddling over to the bed, not leaving my crouch. She might’ve seen all of me last night, but that didn’t mean I was totally cool with her seeing everything _now_. Clearly Taylor felt the same.  
  
“Oh!” Taylor said, realizing my predicament. She shuffled forward and leaned off the edge of the bed, being careful to keep the pillow in place, then grabbed a sheet and threw it to me—all without ever actually looking at me. How considerate. I caught the sheet and wrapped it around my shoulders like a cloak. Then I stood and walked over to her the way a normal person would.  
  
“Um…” I felt like an idiot. I said it anyway. “Do I have your permission to touch you and use my power on you?”  
  
Taylor nodded.  
  
I wrung my hands. “…Can you say it out loud, please?”  
  
“Oh, sorry. You have my permission.”  
  
“Thanks,” I said, flashing her a smile as I sat beside her on the bed. I usually didn’t ask for verbal permission, but it made me feel a little better. Like this wasn’t such a crazy ridiculous situation, but just another patient at the hospital. I reached out and placed a hand on Taylor’s knee. She shifted in place, the pillow shifting with her. My eyes were drawn down her leg, to her hip, to where the pillow obscured what I knew was there. My throat felt thick.  
  
Taylor shifted again. “Um…”  
  
I started, then turned around sharply, locking my eyes on the wall across from us. Bad Amy. Not the time. “R-right, starting now,” I said as I got to work on removing her extra appendage. “Um, this might feel a little weird.”  
  
I felt Taylor tense beneath my hand, goosebumps forming on her skin as I worked. “ _Ahh_ ,” she groaned, then blushed and buried her face in the pillow. “Weird’s one word for it.”  
  
I blushed too, but tried to focus on what I was doing. I was surprised to discover that for whatever reason, removing it was easy. I barely needed to think about it, despite the fact I’d never done anything like this before—unless removing tumours counts, though that usually took a lot longer, and I’d rather not compare _this_ thing to a _tumour_.  
  
All in all, it only took me a minute to revert the changes I’d made last night. Then it was done, and I sat there with my hand on Taylor’s knee, unsure of what to do next. I had a bunch of fat and no idea of where to put it.  
  
Taylor peeked over the pillow at me. “Is it done?” she said. “I can’t feel it any more.”  
  
“Uh, yeah, it’s gone, just… what breast size are you supposed to be? I think I might’ve… changed that too.”  
  
Taylor blinked. “Ah, I remember,” she said with another blush. “I… I wear A-cups, but…” She looked away, her voice becoming a mumble. “They’re a little big for me.”  
  
“Do you know your size exactly?”  
  
She shook her head. “I… never really wanted to know.”  
  
I felt a sudden urge to pat her knee reassuringly, like people did in movies. She just sounded so despondent. I remembered how she’d asked me to up her boob size last night.  
  
Body image issues. I could relate—though my issues were less to do with my boobs and more to do with _everything else_.  
  
I moved the fat to her chest, diverting a portion to make her just shy of an A-cup. The rest I put in reserve, making sure it wouldn’t present itself all at once. Nobody would notice. Everyone would just think it was normal growth.  
  
My good deed for the day.  
  
“Can I go pee now?” Taylor said.  
  
I jumped a little. “Yes, sorry. Go ahead. It’s, uh, it’s all good.”  
  
Taylor flashed me a smile of thanks. Then she stood and walked over to the bathroom, moving the pillow around to cover her butt. Her front was reflected in the TV, top to bottom.  
  
I looked away. She shut the door.  
  
I fell back onto the bed with a sigh that could have almost been rated on the Richter scale. I fixed my eyes on a painted-over scuff on the ceiling and tried my hardest to not think. About anything.  
  
Especially not the fact that Vicky was most definitely waiting downstairs for my walk of shame, and especially not the fact that Vicky would be waiting for Taylor too, and especially not the fact that getting past this without either Vicky or Dean _realising_ would be a pain in the ass, and especially not the fact that… well, you get the idea.  
  
I heard a clacking sound from the bathroom. The toilet seat being lowered.  
  
I groaned, grinding my palms into my face in the vain hope there was a reset button hidden beneath the surface.  
  
This was not going to be fun.  
  
—————————————————  
  
I allowed myself a few moments for my regularly scheduled morning session of self-loathing. Then I rolled off the bed and went about collecting our clothes. We couldn’t do much good naked.  
  
I picked up my underwear and slid into them hurriedly—I wanted to be at least semi-dressed before Taylor came out. Then I went hunting for my pants. It took me a minute, but I finally found my jeans, hidden under the bed. I sat on the floor and tugged them on.  
  
It took me much too long to figure out why the legs dangled so far past my feet.  
  
They weren’t my jeans.  
  
I’d worn one of Vicky’s dresses last night. Great.  
  
I blushed, embarrassed—though no-one could see me, thank god—and threw Taylor’s jeans over to the bathroom door. Then I went and retrieved Vicky’s dress, slipping in and awkwardly zipping myself up.  
  
Somehow I felt uglier in it now than I had last night. Maybe because it was brighter.  
  
The toilet flushed, and I started. _Right, Taylor!_ I grabbed her underwear and top, then hurried over and knocked on the door. “Uh, Taylor?” I said. “I’ve got your clothes.”  
  
She pulled the door open just enough to stick her hand through. I passed over her clothes, then tossed in her jeans too. The door closed again. A minute or two later, Taylor came out, dressed to impress.  
  
I entered the bathroom before either of us had to say or do anything. I needed an excuse to not look at her for a minute longer. Though I did need to pee too.  
  
—————————————————  
  
I came out as Taylor was digging her hoodie and glasses out from under the bed. She glanced up at me and raised a hand in an awkward little wave of greeting. I gave her an equally-awkward smile. I rubbed heat into my arms as the chill set in—this dress was _not_ well insulated. Then I made myself speak.  
  
“So,” we said at the same time.  
  
The conversation began and ended there.  
  
It made me wish there was a real-life equivalent to that little “so-and-so is typing” alert you got on messaging apps. So you’d never wind up talking at the same time as someone else. _Oh wait, they have that. It’s called body language. You just suck._ Gee. Thanks, me.  
  
We stood facing one another, the both of us visibly uncomfortable. I shuffled and stole furtive glances at her, gauging her own actions. Taylor scratched behind her ear and watched me the same way. It made me feel self-conscious. Which made me think I was making _her_ feel self-conscious. I should probably try to avoid that.  
  
I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came to mind other than “uh,” so I ended up staying quiet.  
  
The shuffling and scratching and not-talking stretched far beyond the point of believability. I was beginning to think one of us had died on the spot without realising it until a fresh wave of cold air blew through the window, making me shiver.  
  
Taylor glanced down at her hand, and then held her hoodie out to me. “Here. I don’t need it.”  
  
I hesitated. But she shook her hand in urging, and I took the hoodie from her, slipping it on. It was warm. And like two sizes too big for me. “Thanks,” I said.  
  
The dialogue started to wither again. Part of me wanted to let it. _Most_ of me did; this was an awful situation to be in. But…  
  
“So,” I said, rubbing my legs together—the hoodie only warmed my upper half. “We… had sex last night.”  
  
Taylor nodded, a little bit of redness tinting her cheeks.  
  
“And… my sister is downstairs. Probably with her boyfriend. She’ll be waiting for me. For us.” I paused to chew on my lip. “I—I know my sister. She’s going to think we had sex, no matter what we say. S-so we can’t pretend this didn’t happen. Uh, not—not that I _want_ to pretend it didn’t happen or anything, it was nice and all, but—I mean, unless _you_ want to pretend it didn’t I guess which would be totally fine of course, I don’t really—”  
  
“Amy,” Taylor said. I shut my mouth. “Yes. We had sex. That… that happened.”  
  
“Right.” I nodded. “Right. Yeah. So… um…” My feet shifted. I wasn’t good at asking people to do things. At least, not when those things were so… sensitive. “Well, like I said, we couldn’t possibly convince my sister it _didn’t_ happen. So we’ll have to admit it. But I think we can both agree that she—and everyone else—don’t need to know anything specific, right?”  
  
“…What do you mean?”  
  
“Like, uh…” I changed what I was about to say. “Like the p-penis thing. We can just… you know, keep that between us?”  
  
Taylor nodded, an almost wry smile curling her lips, almost in contrast to her blush. “Of course. I’d rather no-one else learned about that too.”  
  
“Right. And, uh…” I swallowed. I had to say it. For my peace of mind. “I told you some other things, last night. A-about my sister.”  
  
A look of realisation dawned on Taylor’s face. She nodded again. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”  
  
“C-cool.” _Cool? Who says that anymore?_ I turned and headed for the door. “Guess we should—”  
  
“Wait.” Taylor grabbed my hand, stopping me. I looked back at her. She met my eyes. “I… I just want you to know, I meant what I said last night. It’s not gross. It’s not. I, uh… I don’t have any siblings, so I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you, but… it’s not gross.”  
  
It took me a moment to realise what she was saying. Then I turned away as a wave of mixed emotions crashed over me. I closed my eyes to stem the tide, but I wasn’t able to keep a sob from escaping. That annoyed me. Made me feel weak. I didn’t want her to see how pathetic I was.  
  
After a minute, I wiped the wetness from my cheeks with my free hand. “Thank you,” I said without looking back. Taylor squeezed my hand once, then let go. I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. “Alright. Time to face the music?”  
  
“Time to face the music,” Taylor said.  
  
I left the room and headed downstairs. Taylor followed behind me.  
  
We reached the first floor and passed by the main living room. There were still a few other people here. One guy lay snoring on a beanbag in the corner, something scribbled all over his face in black marker. A couple sat just beyond the sliding door to the outside world, mugs in hand, their heads resting against one another. A small group were playing some video game on Dean’s television and slapping each other on the back as they laughed and cursed, and a girl stumbled awkwardly past us, headed for the bathroom.  
  
That all just made things worse. Bad enough I had to take the walk of shame and suffer through Victoria’s inevitable grilling. Bad enough I’d have to lie through my teeth to keep her from knowing what I’d done, how I _felt_ , just like I had to do every other day of my goddamned life. Did there really need to be _other people_ here?  
  
It seemed almost like gravity increased with every step I took. Each felt harder than the last. For a brief moment I entertained the notion of going back upstairs and just sneaking out the window. Or having _Taylor_ sneak out the window, then claiming that I’d been alone in the room the whole time, that Vicky had imagined whatever she’d seen.  
  
But that idea was preposterous. Vicky would never believe me; I’d blown that possibility with my reaction when she’d opened the door, and eye-witness testimonies of my and Taylor’s presence here were readily available. There was nothing for it. I had to do this.  
  
I could do this.  
  
_Right?_  
  
I rounded the corner to the dining room. Victoria and Dean sat at the table, both looking at me. Like they’d known I was coming—which wasn’t that unlikely, given Dean’s power. I froze up despite myself. I felt Taylor stop behind me, just out of sight.  
  
Victoria leaned forwards, resting her chin on her hands. “Hey, Ames,” she said, grinning in that way she had that made my heart flutter, against all logic. In the bedroom it would’ve been sexy. Even standing in the kitchen it actually made me _wet_ , just a little bit, despite the fact that the situation was stressful enough to make arousal seem like an alien concept. “Where’s your friend? You gonna introduce us or what?”  
  
I was very aware of the girl standing behind me. She muttered something under her breath. Then she walked around me, smiling and giving a little wave. “Hi,” she said, rubbing at her head. “I’m Taylor.”  
  
Vicky looked taken-aback. “Wait, it was a girl?” She frowned. “I could’ve sworn…”  
  
I tried to smile to cover my spike of panic. “Y-yeah. W-will you stop trying to set me up with guys now?” I said in the vain hope of injecting some levity into the conversation—or at least changing the subject.  
  
Victoria nodded. “Yeah. But… why didn’t you just tell me about this sooner, Ames?” She looked pained. “The only people that care these days are the nazis. I certainly don’t. Did you think I’d… what? That I’d be upset? Disappointed?”  
  
“No!” I said. “That’s not—It’s just… If I’d told you, you would’ve just started trying to set me up with _girls_ instead.”  
  
“Well, duh. I’m not gonna let you be lonely for the rest of your life. You’re my sister.” She smiled. “My _favourite_ sister.”  
  
“I’m your _only_ sister.” I shifted. “But I didn’t want you setting me up with _anybody_ , Vicky. That’s all.”  
  
“You still should’ve told me.”  
  
I looked down at my hands. “Sorry.”  
  
“No more secrets, yeah? Except when birthdays are involved?”  
  
I nodded silently, hating myself the whole time. Another lie to add to the list.  
  
“Well, I think that’ll do for now,” Dean said as he stood and smiled at us. He gestured. “Come, take a seat! Taylor, is it? Do you prefer coffee or tea? Or would you rather an aspirin?”  
  
Dean was nothing if not gracious. I tried not to hate him too much for that.  
  
“Uh, tea would be great,” Taylor said as she walked over to the table. “Thanks.”  
  
I followed her. I felt like one of those toys that walked around when you twisted the thing on their back. Like each of my legs had different ideas of what we were supposed to be doing. Like falling over was inevitable, and it was just a matter of time.  
  
Dean nodded and walked over to the kitchen area. “Amy, how about you? Coffee or aspirin?”  
  
“Coffee’s fine,” I said.  
  
I took my seat as Dean went over his assortment of tea bags. Taylor stopped him when he said “Earl Grey,” and Dean moved some empty beer bottles aside, clearing a space on the bench so he could brew it for her, then set about making a fresh pot of coffee.  
  
Meanwhile, Victoria just sat there, looking between Taylor and I with an amused, almost smug smile on her face. If I could have melted into my seat, I would have. She didn’t look like a wounded puppy anymore, but I wasn’t convinced this was much better.  
  
“You look familiar, Taylor,” Dean said as he returned with the coffee and a pair of mugs. He got to pouring. “Are you in Ms. Sanders’ sophomore history class?”  
  
Taylor blinked. I think she was surprised. It was sort of hard to tell. “Uh, yeah.”  
  
“I thought so.” Dean gave her a winning smile. For some inexplicable reason, I felt a burst of jealousy. Like he was encroaching on my territory. How ridiculous is that? “I’m pretty good with faces. I’m Dean; I hosted last night. It’s nice to meet you.”  
  
“Likewise.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Victoria said as Dean headed back to the kitchen, “it’s a pleasure, Taylor, but—” She fixed her grin on me. “—I’m more interested in why _you’re_ wearing what I can only assume is _Taylor’s_ hoodie. ‘Cos I _know_ you didn’t have that with you last night.”  
  
“Uh—I—um—” I floundered. I’d forgotten I was wearing that. I should’ve taken it off before coming downstairs. Dammit.  
  
Taylor saved me. “She was cold,” she said with a shrug. “I wasn’t.”  
  
“Oho.” Victoria’s grin widened. “How chivalrous of you.” She leaned across the table, holding out her hand. “I’m Victoria, by the way. Amy’s sister.”  
  
They shook hands. “Yeah,” Taylor said. “I know who you are.”  
  
“Most people do,” Victoria said, sitting down again. “I still can’t tell if that’s a good thing.”  
  
“What does everyone want for food?” Dean said around the fridge door. “We’ve got leftover pizza, toast, a few different types of cereal and… chocolate cake.”  
  
Victoria flew out of her chair—literally—and floated over to the fridge. “Cake. Gimme.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow at her and smiled as if to say “I meant that as a joke.” _That_ look at least I was familiar with; I’d employed it with Vicky more than a few times myself. But he passed her the cake anyway—just like I would have—then turned to us as Victoria glided back to her seat. She didn’t even bother fetching a plate.  
  
“I’m not hungry,” I said. My stomach rumbled its opposition, but I didn’t have the appetite right now. This whole ordeal was just too stressful. I _really_ didn’t want to throw up on Dean’s kitchen table.  
  
Dean’s gaze lingered on me for a moment, then he nodded and looked at Taylor. “Uh, nothing for me, either,” she said. “I… I don’t know that I can stay for long. Sorry.”  
  
Dean waved her off as he put some toast on for himself. “That’s alright. We wouldn’t want to keep you.”  
  
“So, Taylor,” my sister said with a smile. She had a little smidge of chocolate on her lips. I wanted to lick it off.  
  
I blushed and tried to hide it by rubbing at my cheeks. I felt like an idiot. And at the same time, I felt an almost crippling despair surround me. I was sitting right next to the girl I’d had sex with just last night—pretty damn _kinky_ sex, too; and thinking that just made me blush harder—but I was still thinking about Vicky like that. Like I always did.  
  
I was totally obsessed with her. For a moment there I’d held hope that I’d at least be able to salvage something from this disaster and maybe transfer my feelings to Taylor somehow, so Victoria could just be my sister again, but… no. It wasn’t that easy.  
  
Of course it wasn’t that easy.  
  
Nothing ever was.  
  
“…Tell me about yourself,” my sister finished.  
  
“Uh…” Taylor stared at Victoria, unblinking. She swallowed heavily.  
  
“Vicky,” Dean said as he loaded a few slices of toast onto a plate and walked over to his seat. “Tone it down.”  
  
Victoria blinked at him, then looked sheepish. “My bad,” she said with an embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry, Taylor.”  
  
Taylor frowned. “Err… apology accepted. What—uh, sorry, what were you saying?”  
  
Victoria repeated her question. I sipped at my coffee. I was content to let the conversation wash over me. Every second Victoria spent chatting with Taylor was a second she was _not_ interrogating me for details about our night. And the longer I could put that off the better.  
  
Taylor didn’t seem to be the most talkative person, but my sister was nothing if not a good conversationalist. Dean and Victoria kept Taylor engaged, asking her about herself and getting her to open up in a way that I could never hope to emulate.  
  
I tried to imagine myself on a date with Taylor, sitting down for dinner at a nice restaurant. I could _picture_ it without much trouble. I’d wear something casual, because anything fancy would be ruined on me. Maybe a nice jacket at the most. And Vi—Taylor would be wearing heels and a nice dress, something that emphasised her figure, her hair cascading down her shoulders. Candles on the table. Two glasses set before us and filled with something romantic, like wine.  
  
It was a nice image. But that’s all it was. The moment I tried to imagine how the date would actually _go_ , it all fell apart. What would we talk about? What _could_ we talk about? How I’d enjoyed that time we’d sucked on each other’s faces? Or that same time when I’d _gotten wasted_ for the first time in my life _and grown a fucking_ penis _on her crotch_?  
  
Sure. Perfect first date material.  
  
If I could _talk_ to people like Victoria could, then maybe there’d be a chance that such a date would _not_ crash and burn horribly. But I couldn’t do what Victoria did. Or what Dean did. Or what every other semi-functional person on planet earth did. So it didn’t matter.  
  
I dismissed the fantasy. No. Dating wasn’t going to work out, even though I knew Victoria would push for me to try. I mean, I didn’t know Taylor’s _last name_ , or even _how old she was_. Such basic things. And friendship was almost definitely off the table, given what we’d done last night. If television was even slightly accurate, sex could ruin friendships that had lasted _decades_. One night’s camaraderie didn’t stand a chance.  
  
The thought made me sad. I’d really thought Taylor and I could have been friends. _Good_ friends. But I’d ruined everything before we’d even had a chance to try.  
  
I went to sip my coffee, only to find I’d finished it without realising. Clearly it hadn’t helped much—not that it usually did. The conversation continued to flow around me. Victoria included me where she could, but there was only so much she could do when I didn’t put forth any effort of my own.  
  
I slipped into a daze again, everyone’s voices blurring together when I stopped paying attention. The other house guests came and went, but never involved themselves in the conversation. Thankfully, they ignored me, and I ignored them right back.  
  
The clock on the wall behind us ding-dong’d. Taylor glanced at it, and Victoria paused her recounting of something that had happened in costume. A story I wasn’t familiar with. “Damn,” Taylor said, turning back to us. “I didn’t realise it was so late.”  
  
“It’s only one,” Victoria said. Then she grinned. “And I’m sure you had a late night.”  
  
Taylor and I blushed in tandem. “Uh, yeah, but my dad thinks I’m sleeping at a friend’s place,” Taylor said. “I told him I’d call after lunch; he’s… a bit of a worrywart. Can I use your phone?”  
  
“Sure,” Dean said, standing. “It’s right this way.” Then he led her off.  
  
…Leaving me with Victoria.  
  
Victoria glanced back where Taylor and Dean had gone, then leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. “So…” she said, looking like a cat who’d cornered her prey. “Taylor’s pretty. Tall and skinny’s your type, huh?”  
  
I turned away and said nothing. I didn’t trust myself to answer.  
  
“I like her,” Victoria said. “She’s got a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights kind of thing going on, but that might be my fault. I think she’ll be good for you.”  
  
Oh, wonderful. The person I’m madly in love with thinks my one-night-stand and I would make a good couple. That’s just great, Victoria, thank you. Exactly what I wanted to hear.  
  
“Though I gotta say, Ames… I didn’t think you had this in you.”  
  
I looked at her. “Had what in me?”  
  
“This! Picking up a girl at a party. Taking her to your room. The whole shebang. Heh. Get it?” I stared at her in silence. She tilted her head. “Or did _she_ pick _you_ up?”  
  
I shifted. I wasn’t entirely sure of the answer myself. But even more than that, I didn’t know what I wanted Victoria to _think_. Would my answer affect how Victoria thought of me? Would it affect my chances with… her…  
  
Ugh. There I went again, deluding myself into thinking I had _any_ chance at all. Multiply zero by whatever you want, it’s still zero. My answer here wouldn’t change a damn thing.  
  
I went with the honest route. It required the least number of syllables. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Ooh.” Victoria smiled. “Sounds to me like the interest was mutual. Alright, so…” She bent over the table, leaning in further. Her breasts jiggled beneath her as she moved. Taunting me. “Who initiated it? The sex?”  
  
My face flushed red.  
  
“Was it her? She looks like a take-charge type. But I could see it being you too. I mean, you know what they say. It’s the quiet ones you gotta watch out for.” She waggled her eyebrows.  
  
I groaned and dropped my head to the table. “Vicky, please. Not now. I… She’ll be back any second.”  
  
“Fiiine,” she said. I could just about hear her pout. “But I _will_ be getting it out of you later, sis. The whole story. Capiche?”  
  
I gave a lazy wave of acknowledgement, but said nothing. Victoria shifted in her seat. My sister had never liked the quiet as much as I did; butterflies were much more flighty than wallflowers, social or otherwise. Eventually she got up and grabbed a banana from the fridge, then paced the kitchen as she ate, phone in hand and fingers tapping all over.  
  
Dean came back a minute later with a trash bag full of things that clinked. He dumped it next to a group of other bags in a corner of the kitchen, then put another pot of coffee on. He poured himself a cup and refilled mine, then took his seat at the table again. At least he didn’t bug me. Victoria sat beside him and continued tapping at her phone. I was pretty sure they were holding hands beneath the table.  
  
Taylor returned shortly after. “Sorry,” she said, “I have to go.”  
  
Dean smiled at her. It annoyed me—probably that jealousy again. “Nothing to be sorry for,” Dean said. “Like I said: we wouldn’t want to keep you.”  
  
Victoria perked up. “Do you need a ride?”  
  
“No, I should be alright,” Taylor said. “Where’s the nearest bus stop?”  
  
Dean turned to point. “Four blocks tha—”  
  
“I can fly you!” Victoria butt in.  
  
Taylor stared at her. “Fly?”  
  
“Yeah, fly,” my sister said. “Y’know. Glory Girl, superpowers, that kinda thing. Get you home in a jiffy. No need to waste money on bus fare.”  
  
I narrowed my eyes at her.  
  
“That… sounds a little dangerous,” Taylor said.  
  
Victoria shook her head. “Nah, I take Ames all the time. Perfectly safe. And come on, now…” She grinned. “You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to fly.”  
  
Taylor smiled, a slight curve gracing her lips. “Maybe.”  
  
“Pshaw. Maybe, she says. Maybe.”  
  
“I don’t want to trouble you—”  
  
“It’s no trouble,” Victoria said. “I can fly pretty fast. And it’s the least I could do for my little sister’s new… _friend_.” Taylor and I shared another blush. I got the impression Victoria would be making me do that a lot in the foreseeable future. I did not look forward to it. Victoria smiled. “So it’s settled, then. I’ll fly you. Do you need to fetch your stuff?”  
  
“Uh, no. I didn’t bring anything.”  
  
“Awesome. I’m guessing you want to leave now, then?”  
  
Taylor frowned. Then she said, “Oh, yeah. That’d be great.”  
  
Victoria nodded. “No problemo,” she said as she stood and started to walk around the table. “Just one thing we gotta do first.”  
  
“What’s that?” Taylor said.  
  
Victoria stopped behind my chair and planted her hands on my shoulders. I tilted my head to look up at her. She smirked. “Have you two swapped numbers yet?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“That’s what I thought,” Victoria said. “Where’s your phone, Ames?”  
  
I shifted. She squeezed my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. We both knew she wasn’t going to let me _or_ Taylor leave until we’d memorized each other’s birth certificates. “…You made me leave it at home.”  
  
“Eh,” Victoria said. “Right.” She looked at Taylor. “I’m guessing you don’t have a mobile here either?”  
  
Taylor shook her head.  
  
“Of course.” Victoria turned to Dean. “Pen and paper?”  
  
Dean nodded and stood, walking into the next room. He came back a few seconds later with the requested items in hand, and passed them to Victoria. “Thanks,” she said. Then she wrote down three numbers on the sheet: my mobile, _her_ mobile, and our home phone. That seemed like overkill to me. But I suppose she’s the expert.  
  
Victoria crossed the last zero, then folded the paper in half and held it out to Taylor. “Here you go. What’s your number?”  
  
Taylor took the paper and looked at it for a moment, then tucked it into a jean pocket. Victoria got her phone out and tapped in Taylor’s number as Taylor recited it for her.  
  
“That’s the number for my home phone, just so you know,” Taylor said. “I don’t have a mobile.”  
  
“Ugh, really?” Victoria said. “That sounds awful.”  
  
Taylor shrugged.  
  
“Alright. Let’s go.” Victoria walked up to Taylor. “Any preference on how I carry you?”  
  
“Err… the safest way, I guess?”  
  
“Gotcha. By the ankles it is.” Victoria picked Taylor up without any further warning, sliding an arm under her shoulders and another under her knees. Taylor floundered for a second before wrapping her hands around Vicky’s neck. “Let’s get going.”  
  
“Okay,” Taylor said, looking uncomfortable. Then she looked over Vicky’s shoulder… at me. Our eyes met. Her cheeks flushed red, but she raised a hand in a little wave. I returned it, and Taylor turned to wave at Dean too.  
  
“Back in a bit!” Victoria said over her shoulder, then stepped out the door and pushed off the steps outside, shooting up into the air with a yelp from Taylor.  
  
I stared at the empty doorframe for a minute. She was gone. I’d survived my walk of shame.  
  
I… felt pretty good about that, actually. Though admittedly, it hadn’t been as bad as I’d expected: Victoria had seemed perfectly content to chat with Taylor and leave me to my wallowing. I suspected the really hard part would come later, once Victoria had me to herself.  
  
But until then, I could hold on to the satisfaction of having survived the first ordeal of many. That was something to be proud of, at least.  
  
I felt eyes on me. Dean’s, souring my already-poor mood. I turned and met his gaze. “What?” I said.  
  
“Vicky’s really happy about this, you know,” he said. “Happy _for you_. It feels almost like she’s had a dream come true.”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
Dean drummed his fingers on the table. “You seem less enthused.”  
  
“I don’t think it’s any of your business,” I said, and regretted it the moment I was done. That was rude.  
  
Dean pursed his lips. “Maybe not, no.” He stood from his chair. Then he grabbed a half-filled garbage bag from the pile in the kitchen and started putting empty bottles inside. It was noisy.  
  
“Um… do you want some help?” I said. I felt bad, and that seemed like the polite thing to say.  
  
“No, that’s alright,” Dean said, continuing to sweep away trash. “Do you think you’ll see her again?”  
  
I closed my eyes and wished he’d just be quiet for a minute. “Taylor, you mean?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
I sighed. “How am I supposed to know? I’ve never done anything like this before. And I don’t know a thing about her.”  
  
“Well, that’s why you’d see her again,” Dean said. “To find out who she is, what she’s like. If she’d make a good partner. Trust me, Victoria and I didn’t wake up one day to discover we were dating. We had to work at it.” He emptied a half-full bottle of beer into the sink, then deposited the glass in the bag. “And for what it’s worth, I think you should do it.”  
  
“Uhuh. Thanks.”  
  
“Does that mean you’ll consider it?”  
  
“It means _uhuh_.” I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Why are you being so insistent? It’s weird.” I tried to sound joking.  
  
Dean glanced at me and smiled ruefully. “I think I’ve just figured something out, is all. Finally put the pieces together. And a lot of things make a little more sense now.”  
  
“O-oh?” I narrowed my eyes at him as my heartbeat picked up the pace. “What have you figured out?”  
  
“Why you don’t like me very much.”  
  
I froze, though my heart kept pounding away.  
  
“I feel like an idiot, actually,” he said with a chuckle. “For the longest time I thought you were jealous of _Victoria_ , because she was dating _me_ , despite how little sense that made. And Victoria believed that too. But that’s wrong, isn’t it?”  
  
“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“That’s fair,” Dean said. “I understand not wanting to talk about it. Especially with me.”  
  
“I-it’s not that I don’t _want_ to talk about it with you. I just seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
He continued like I hadn’t spoken. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her. But I think you should.”  
  
I snorted, despite how tense I felt. That was just such a ridiculous idea. I wanted to tell him he was an idiot for even suggesting it. But if I did that, I’d be giving him confirmation. I didn’t want to do that. Certainly not now.  
  
I went with a neutral response. “You’re full of advice today.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Just think about it,” he said. “Victoria’s not an idiot.”  
  
“I didn’t say she was!”  
  
“No, you didn’t. Sorry. What I mean is, she _will_ figure it out on her own. And I don’t think it will take long. I expect she’ll pretend that she _hasn’t_ figured it out for as long as she can, but you need to tell her yourself anyway.” His voice quieted. “Trust me when I say that ignoring a sensitive subject doesn’t make it go away. It just makes things worse. And we both know she’ll never come to feel the way you do.”  
  
Dean dropped the last bottle into the garbage bag and tightened the pull-handles, then put it back with the others. He looked back at me. I kept my eyes glued to the kitchen counter, even while he scrutinised me. Dean sighed. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” he said. “I don’t mean to. I don’t really know what to do here either, but… if it makes any difference, I promise she won’t hate you for it.”  
  
I didn’t respond. He watched me for a moment longer, then he grabbed an empty garbage bag and went into the next room.  
  
I sat, unmoving, and waited until I could no longer hear his footsteps. Then I slammed my head into the table. It hurt like a bitch. Tears leaked out of my eyes, but I forced myself to cry in silence.  
  
I didn’t feel sad. I just felt pathetic.  
  
—————————————————  
  
Victoria came back shortly, all smiles. “Hey, Ames,” she said as she glided through the doorway. “Tay—”  
  
“I want to go home,” I said.  
  
Victoria paused. “Okay, sure. But, um…” She frowned at me. “Are you alright, Ames? Something happen while I was gone?”  
  
“I’m fine.” I feigned a yawn. “I’m just really tired.”  
  
“Oh. Well, gimme a minute and we’ll go, ‘kay?”  
  
I nodded. “Dean’s that way,” I said, pointing vaguely in his direction. She thanked me and glided off.  
  
I stood and walked over to the window, looking at my own reflection. It wasn’t obvious that I’d been crying. I think. It seemed Victoria was just… observant. Sometimes. When she wanted to be. When it was easy.  
  
_Maybe Dean’s right_ , I thought. _Maybe she’s_ already _figured it out, and she’s just pretending. I’m clearly no good at keeping it a secret_.  
  
I sighed. Something caught my eye, and I glanced down.  
  
“Oh shit,” I said.  
  
“What?”  
  
I spun around. Victoria had just rounded the corner with Dean beside her. “I forgot to give Taylor her hoodie back,” I said, picking at the fabric.  
  
Victoria smiled. “Good!”  
  
“Goo—How is this good? What if she needs it?”  
  
“Oh, please, I’m sure she can survive without it until Monday. You can give it back then.”  
  
I stared at her in incomprehension. “How am I supposed to do that?”  
  
“Uh, hello? You give it to her at school, duh. That place we all go five days a week?”  
  
“…Oh.”  
  
“And best of all,” Victoria said with a wicked grin, “now you have no excuse for avoiding her. Which you were totally going to do. Not that I’d let you weasel your way out of this anyway.”  
  
“Gee, thanks.” I looked down at the hoodie and sighed again. Returning it would not be fun. “Are you done? Can we go now?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Victoria said. She went to give Dean a kiss, but he turned his head so it landed on his cheek. Then he pecked Victoria’s cheek in return and gave her a hug. Victoria tilted her head like a puppy, but shrugged and accepted the hug. “Text me.”  
  
Dean smiled. “Will do.”  
  
Victoria turned and picked me up, the same way she’d picked up Taylor earlier. The same way she _always_ picked me up.  
  
Somehow, it felt… weird. Less comforting than usual.  
  
We took off.  
  
—————————————————  
  
The flight passed in silence—Victoria had long since learned that talking while flying only worked for her. I was thankful for that. I didn’t want to talk to her. Not now. Not about what I knew she’d _want_ to discuss.  
  
We landed just by the front door, and Victoria put me down. I brushed Taylor’s hoodie down as noisily as I could, to hide my sigh of relief at being free from my sister’s arms.  
  
“We’re back!” Victoria called as we entered the house. She placed her hand on my shoulder, leaned in close and said, “Don’t worry; I won’t tell.” Then she grinned and moved further inside. I followed her with much less enthusiasm.  
  
Mark sat watching TV from the couch. He glanced up when we approached. “Hey, girls,” he said. “Have fun at the party?”  
  
“Yup!” Victoria said. “It was great. And Ames made a friend!”  
  
I glared at her.  
  
She mouthed “What?” at me.  
  
I mouthed “You said you wouldn’t tell” back.  
  
“I’m not,” she mouthed, then turned back to Mark and spoke aloud. “Where’s Mom?”  
  
“Hm?” He glanced back, not really taking his attention from the television. “Oh. Groceries, I think.”  
  
I thought about drawing her aside and giving her an earful. “Won’t tell” my ass. But it wasn’t worth the effort—I wouldn’t gain anything, and she’d probably win any argument we had anyway. She usually did. Instead, I walked past her and headed upstairs.  
  
“Whoa, Ames, wait up!” Victoria called from behind. I glanced back and saw her climbing the stairs after me. I kept walking.  
  
“Talk to you later, Dad!” I heard Victoria say. Mark didn’t respond. Then I stopped hearing Victoria’s footsteps, and she slid around in front of me. “Hey,” she said. “Deets, remember?”  
  
I sighed. “I don’t want to talk right now,” I said. “I’m _really_ tired. Can you please just…” I gestured lamely.  
  
“Oh.” Victoria somehow managed to lace that word with dejection. “Okay.” She dropped to her feet without a sound and stepped to the side. “We’ll talk later, though, right?”  
  
“Sure,” I said, then walked past her and to my room. I’d have to think of something to tell her later—I couldn’t tell her the truth. But that was a job for future me: the one version of me that _wasn’t_ a complete mess. Present me just wanted to be alone.  
  
I stepped into my room, closing the door behind me. After a moment’s thought, I turned the lock. Victoria and Carol both had a bad habit of opening doors without much warning. Better safe than sorry.  
  
Once that was done I stood there with my hand on the knob, not moving except to breathe. I wasn’t sure what to do.  
  
I felt like I should be running around, screaming my lungs out. Beating my head against the wall. Rolling on the floor like I’d been set on fire.  
  
I felt like I should be freaking out.  
  
But apparently, I hadn’t been lying when I’d brushed Victoria off. Because right now, I just felt tired. And not in the physical sense. The kind of tiredness that went bone-deep.  
  
I trudged over to my bed and flopped onto my stomach, my limbs splayed out.  
  
I lay there in silence, staring at nothing. Then my phone chimed. I grabbed it lazily from my bedside cabinet. It was a message from Victoria, passing along Taylor’s phone number.  
  
Her name was Hebert.  
  
Hebert…  
  
Was that pronounced He-bear or He-burt? Or Heb-ert?  
  
I suppose it didn’t matter. I turned my phone off and let it fall to the carpet. Then I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes.  
  
The minutes ticked by.  
  
I soon realised falling asleep was well beyond me.  
  
My mind refused to be still. I was constantly assaulted by my own neuroses, my brain choosing _now_ of all times to point out how every thing that had happened last night had been my fault and my fault alone, to ridicule me the way everyone else did in my nightmares, to pile new doubts upon my old ones even though the tower was already miles tall and rickety as all hell.  
  
For whatever reason, my brain decided to run through the previous night—and the last few hours—again in their entirety, the scenes playing out in my head. As my miniature disaster movie progressed, I oscillated between negatives, jumping from guilt to regret to anger to sadness to jealousy with none of the positives to balance everything out. None of the happiness or satisfaction I distinctly remembered feeling when Taylor and I had been together—both in the platonic sense and… not.  
  
The most positive feeling my brain allowed me was arousal. I latched on to that. It wasn’t _entirely_ positive—there were undercurrents of anxiety and other unsavoury things—but it wasn’t as bad or depressing as the others, and it was all I had. So I focused on it, and blocked out the rest.  
  
I thought of Taylor. Of her body. Her skin, soft and warm beside me in my bed, rubbing against mine, a sensuality I’d never known before in quite the same way. Her hair, long and curly and the richest of browns, all splayed about her naked self as she lay beneath me, like something ripped from a renaissance painting. Her legs, long and slender, spread for my benefit, so I could do what I pleased, _where_ I pleased.  
  
I imagined how it would go. Not like last night—there were too many negative connotations there. But if we got a second chance, whether I wanted that or not.  
  
First I would lean in, and we would kiss. Then I would touch her. Or she would touch me—yes. _I’d_ be the one on the bed, her strong arms locking me in, her hair dangling down to tickle my skin, her knee pushing my legs apart as I lay powerless before her will, her teeth nipping at my flesh as she made her way from my neck to my hips, and then her tongue would find its way inside me, and my hands would entwine in her hair as she made me shiver and tremble like mad, and she would go faster and harder and do things I could only dream of and I would look down and see her head surrounded by that halo of perfect golden hair and she would meet my eyes and grin that grin I so loved and then—  
  
I climaxed quietly.  
  
Afterwards, I lay in silence: staring at the ceiling, wallowing in my own mess. My heartbeat slowed as my body realised I was finished. The dreaded clarity returned. I could feel the part of my mind that hated me battering at my walls, waiting for the chance to take over once again. I looked down.  
  
My hand was still between my thighs. My fingers, still wet.  
  
I was still wearing Taylor’s hoodie. It smelled like she had, a scent I couldn’t describe.  
  
I closed my eyes, and saw Victoria. She pushed me down and had her way with me. Again.  
  
My fingers started moving. Again.  
  
I felt disgusting. Again.  
  
…But I didn’t stop.


	3. Chapter 3

Taylor floundered as the ground fell away beneath them. Her stomach lurched, her arms tightening around Glory Girl’s neck. Glory Girl’s grip was solid, but it seemed human flight was a rather disorienting thing to experience for the first time. It certainly didn’t help that thousands upon thousands of bugs had vanished from her senses—leaving her with nothing but her own two eyes to work with. It put Taylor more than a little off-balance.  
  
_And Amy does this all the time?_ she thought. _Wow_.  
  
Taylor looked down and immediately regretted it, her grip tightening again. They had to be a thousand feet up at the very least. Taylor didn’t have an issue with heights, but normally you’d have a floor or window or some kind of _barrier_ between you and the long fall beyond, not a teenage girl’s arms—super-powered or not. She didn’t feel very secure.  
  
Glory Girl glanced down at her, then slowed to a standstill—or… a flystill? “Shit! Sorry!” she said, loud enough to cut through the wind—and _fuck_ , it was cold this far up! “I forgot you’ve—” Whatever else she said was lost to the wind as she started to descend, dropping their altitude by a few hundred feet—just enough for Taylor’s power to latch on to the few high-flying stragglers. Not much of a force, but their presence was comforting. Evidently she relied on them more than she’d realised.  
  
Glory Girl levelled out, then added a horizontal thrust, sending them gliding smoothly across the city. It was much less terrifying than their ascension had been. Probably because it didn’t feel like they were moving very quickly, even though Taylor was confident they were. The cityscape in her peripheral vision—she wasn’t quite willing to look down—almost seemed to _crawl_ by, a result of their distance.  
  
Suddenly Glory Girl laughed, a sound Taylor heard for only a moment before it too was lost to the wind. She stopped. “I don’t actually know where you live!” she shouted.  
  
“Uh,” Taylor said. “The Docks! Near Winslow High!” She looked around, then realised she couldn’t point without letting go of Glory Girl’s neck, and settled for nodding her head in the general direction of her neighbourhood.  
  
“Roger, roger!” Glory Girl said, and then they zoomed off again, the wind cutting through Taylor’s shirt like a hot knife through butter. Her hair was waving all over the place. At least she hadn’t spent any time brushing it that morning. There had been… more pressing matters.  
  
They drew nearer. Taylor could see Winslow High in the distance. Her old school. She looked away. _Good riddance_. They continued to glide, and Taylor found herself growing more comfortable with her position, loosening her death-grip on Glory Girl’s neck.  
  
Taylor steeled her will, then looked down. Brockton Bay sprawled beneath them, the houses and neighbourhoods looking like the perfect place for a family of dolls looking to relocate—tiny cars moving about on the roads, and even tinier people walking dogs and doing yardwork. _Yeah_ , Taylor thought. _Wow. I can see the appeal_. She looked for her house, spotting it in the distance, then tugged at Glory Girl’s collar and pointed—with only a _second_ of hesitation.  
  
Glory Girl nodded and angled them east and downward, the wind direction changing so that it blew their hair into the sky. Taylor was suddenly very glad she hadn’t worn a skirt. Not that she’d be caught dead in a skirt anyway.  
  
She looked at Glory Girl. _Amy’s in love with her, right?_ Taylor looked her up and down, and found she couldn’t fault Amy for that. Glory Girl—or rather, Victoria—was absurdly beautiful. Her skin was perfect: clear and smooth, not a blemish in sight. Her teeth were perfect too, an immaculately straight set of pearly whites that contributed to her awfully charming smile, which had no doubt set many teenage boys’ hearts aflutter— _and teenage girls, I guess_.  
  
Her nose, her ears, her hair, her jaw, her cheekbones—everything just _fit_ , like she’d been born a supermodel, like Fate itself had chosen her to be the local paragon of female beauty. Even her _mouth_ was perfect—not too wide, like someone else Taylor knew. Just right. Taylor wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Victoria was a model. Even if she was a lips model. And Taylor was pretty sure that was not a thing that existed.  
  
Despite herself, Taylor’s eyes drifted down to Victoria’s chest. Victoria had to be a C-cup at the very least. Maybe even a _D_. Taylor glanced at her own chest: pitiful in comparison. A memory of the previous night flashed into her mind, of Amy… improving Taylor’s own endowments. She flushed. _Yeah_ , she thought. _I can see the appeal there, too_.  
  
Taylor had to wonder if Amy was responsible for any of Victoria’s beauty. Surely a little super-powered facelifting was possible, considering everything else she was capable of. Taylor secretly hoped Victoria’s parents weren’t as good-looking as their daughter was—that Victoria was some ridiculous, impossible, magical anomaly; that she’d contracted some one-in-a-billion mutation as an embryo that resulted in… this. But alas, Taylor had seen Brandish and Flashbang unmasked in magazines. There was no hope there.  
  
And as if the good looks weren’t enough, Victoria had charisma in spades—and she was in much better shape than Taylor. It was impossible not to notice, just as it was impossible not to notice how _strong_ Victoria was. And she was very strong. _Super_ strong, in fact. More than strong enough to carry another person without any issue. As was evident.  
  
Taylor had to admit that was a rather attractive trait—and not just on an instinctive, primordial level. It was the kind of thing she imagined would make you feel safe, knowing that the person beside you could walk through a steel wall and rescue you from a gang of armed kidnappers without breaking a sweat, then whisk you away for an impromptu date in Europe. You could always feel secure with someone powerful at your side. Not to mention all the _other_ possibilities opened up by super strength.  
  
Taylor flushed, jerking her head around to no true effect. That thought had been… unexpected. Very much so—though still not as unexpected as the _extremely_ explicit image that accompanied it. Taylor swallowed and put it out of her mind, trying to focus on watching the city draw nearer beneath them and most assuredly not on how warm Victoria’s hand felt against her thigh—a stark, if indirect reminder of the previous night.  
  
They drew closer to her house—close enough that Taylor could almost make out the number on the mailbox. She tapped Victoria’s shoulder, then leaned up closer to Victoria’s ear. “Here’s fine!” she yelled over the winds.  
  
Victoria jolted. “You don’t need to shout!” she shouted, but began their descent anyway, touching down on the pavement just across the street from Taylor’s house.  
  
Taylor hopped eagerly out of Victoria’s arms, immediately reaching out to the bugs nearby. She had to bite down a sigh of relief as cockroach senses flooded her mind. That confirmed matters—she had gotten _very_ used to having her bugs around. To the point that being without for even a minute made her feel… small. Alone. She didn’t like that feeling. Not one bit.  
  
Taylor cleared her throat. “Thanks,” she said. “For the, uh… lift.”  
  
“No problemo. Like I said, it’s the least I could do.”  
  
“I guess. But thanks anyway.” Taylor shuffled her feet for a moment. “Well… I’ll see you around, I guess,” she said, turning to leave—and trying very hard not to look too eager in doing so.  
  
Victoria grabbed her arm. “One thing, before you go.”  
  
Taylor looked back at her. Victoria didn’t let go.  
  
“My sister. Do you like her?”  
  
Taylor blinked. “Um… what do you mean?”  
  
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Victoria said. “Do you like my sister?”  
  
Taylor was quiet for a moment, though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t a hard question, and her answer was obvious. She and Amy had meshed well—maybe _too_ well. At some points it had been like she was talking to _herself_. Not to mention… “Yeah,” Taylor said, cutting the thought off. “I like her.”  
  
“Great!” Victoria said. “That’s awesome. ‘Cos _I_ like you, and I _know_ Ames likes you too—trust me, I can tell.”  
  
Taylor nodded in silence, trying to ignore the irony in that statement.  
  
“Are you gonna go out?”  
  
“Uh—you’re asking if we’re going to… start dating?”  
  
“Exactly.” Victoria nodded. “Are you?”  
  
Taylor hesitated, unsure what to say. Unsure if the wrong answer would have disastrous consequences in some form or another. She knew Victoria would never hurt her, no matter what she said, but… she went with an easy answer, all the same. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Okay. That’s alright; I suppose you haven’t known each other for long. But what about just being friends, for now? You’ll be her friend, yeah?”  
  
“I…” Taylor swallowed, her throat feeling dry. “Yes. I’d like that.” She’d almost said ‘ _I guess_.’ That would not have been a good response. Being wishy-washy was always a bad idea.  
  
Victoria grinned. “I’m glad.” She leaned closer, speaking in a quieter tone. Taylor moved closer too, her body doing so automatically. “You didn’t hear this from me, but she doesn’t have many friends. So I think you’ll be good for her.” Then she straightened and levelled a warning finger at Taylor’s face—her eyes narrowing, smile fading. “As long as you don’t make her cry,” Victoria said. “But you’re not going to make her cry, right?”  
  
Taylor bristled, immediately feeling threatened—and not knowing why. For a moment, Victoria’s tone seemed somehow dangerous, almost like Sophia’s had when she’d been in a bad mood—but then Taylor remembered who she was actually talking to, as well as the topic of conversation, and relaxed. Somewhat. There was a limit to how comfortable she could be in a situation like this. Glory Girl had something of an overpowering presence, even in civilian clothes. “I won’t.”  
  
“Cool!” Victoria jumped in and gave her a quick hug. Taylor tried _really_ hard, but she couldn’t avoid taking notice of the way Victoria’s breasts squished against her. They had a rather overpowering presence, too. Clearly life was just unfair sometimes.  
  
Victoria stepped back. “See you ‘round!” she said, then rocketed into the sky.  
  
Two seconds later, she landed in front of Taylor once more. “Oh, and one more thing!” She glanced around, as if checking to see if they were being watched, then leaned in to whisper in Taylor’s ear. “How was the sex?”  
  
Taylor blinked. Then she realised what Victoria had just said. She felt her cheeks explode with colour. “Uh—I—I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
“C’moooon,” Victoria said with a grin, poking Taylor in the arm. “I’m not gonna gossip! Promise! Tell me _one_ thing, at least. Like, is Ames a good kisser? Or, which one of you was the top? Did you go down on each other? Did—”  
  
“Uh—I don’t—can I plead the fifth?” Taylor said, trying to get a handle on her blush—and trying even harder to keep from spewing gibberish in place of words. “I… really don’t think I should answer any of those. Um… respecting her privacy, and everything.”  
  
Victoria pouted. “Fiiiiiine. You pass, I guess.” She gave Taylor another quick hug, then hopped back, her grin returning like it had never left. “I’ll just have to use my imagination,” she said. Then she stuck her tongue out and rocketed into the sky _again_ , heading back the way they’d originally come.  
  
She eclipsed the sun as she flew. That seemed fitting somehow.  
  
Taylor stood on the pavement for a long moment, watching Victoria go, more than a little baffled. That girl changed emotions faster than a bird’s wings could flap. Talking with her for even a minute was exhausting—and it left Taylor feeling very drained, emotionally-speaking. She almost felt like she had whiplash. Victoria’s boyfriend must have had more influence on their earlier conversation than she’d realised: Victoria had been much more consistent during breakfast—or lunch, to be more accurate.  
  
But regardless of how badly she’d conducted herself, Taylor was through the hard part. Victoria had gone home. Now she just had to find something else to busy herself with—preferably something that did not involve other human beings.  
  
Taylor shook herself and headed across the road, to her house… then spotted her father watching her through the lounge room window. She miraculously managed to avoid missing a step. She’d forgotten about him. She’d half expected him to not be home—half _hoped_. But no, of course he was home. It was Saturday. Yet another mistake for the list.  
  
She forced a smile and gave a little wave as she crossed their front yard. Her father’s head withdrew, and she mounted the front steps.  
  
“Am I going senile,” he said as she entered the house, “or did Glory Girl just drop you off at our house?”  
  
Taylor chewed her lip. She had neglected to plan for this eventuality—though, in fairness, it would have been more odd if she _had_. She’d never meant to go to the party, last night. Not truly. She’d planned to _go out_. To finally _do_ something as a cape. To… _debut_ , for lack of a better word. Her costume was complete—or complete enough to provide the necessary protection and anonymity. And she’d tested it (and her powers) extensively.  
  
She’d even set up an alibi to give her father, planning to tell him she’d gone to the party, then spent the night at Meagan’s house. Clean and simple. She’d accounted for everything—or so she’d thought. Until her father caught her leaving for the night, and her excuse had backfired. After all, what self-respecting father would let his daughter catch the _bus_ to her first high-school party? Especially in the middle of the night. Though she was surprised he’d let her go at all.  
  
Running upstairs to hide her costume had been a stroke of genius—or perhaps paranoia. If she’d taken it with her, maybe she could have ditched the party, could have avoided… all of this. Hell, if she’d refused Victoria’s offer, her excuse might’ve still worked. But now it was fucked. Meagan had never met Glory Girl. And Taylor had never stopped to _consider_ how accepting that offer would affect things.  
  
Truth be told, she doubted she could have refused anyways: the chance to _fly_ seemed like a hard one to pass up. But it was still stupid.  
  
Her dad waved a hand in front of her face. “Taylor?”  
  
Taylor started. “Uh, yes,” she said on reflex, before she could think about it. “That was Glory Girl. Sorry.”  
  
His eyebrows climbed halfway up his forehead. “Wow,” he said, looking back out the window. Taylor threw a furtive glance at the stairs, but she was having more and more trouble thinking straight—she wasn’t sure what she could say to escape. “…Why did Glory Girl just drop you off at our house?”  
  
“I…” Her mouth worked silently for a moment. Then the reckless part of her took control and threw caution to the wind. “She’s a good samaritan? I don’t know. I’ll explain later.” She took his bewilderment as an opportunity to squeeze past him. “I have a—thing,” she finished lamely, then she speed-walked to the stairs and hurried upward.  
  
“You—Taylor, wait!” he called after her. “How’d the party go? Did you have fun?”  
  
“It was fine!” she said. “I’ll tell you later!” Then she was in her room, leaning against the closed door. She watched her father with her bugs. He paused at the foot of the stairs for a moment, standing as if he was about to climb them himself. But then he shook his head and moved to the couch. He wouldn’t be knocking on her door anytime soon.  
  
Taylor sighed, collapsing to her knees, only the door keeping her upright. She had not handled that well. Any of it.  
  
At least she was finally alone. Away from other people. She’d been waiting for a respite for more than an hour, and she’d _finally_ gotten it.  
  
But suddenly, she wished she hadn’t.  
  
Ever since she’d woken up, something had been happening. There had been something to distract her. First, it had been finding her clothes and… fixing the changes they’d made—as awkward, embarrassing, and confusing as that had been. Then she’d had the perilous challenge of navigating the murky waters of teenage socialising—not a _fun_ task, but a much more manageable one. Then she’d had to keep from throwing up her lunch in mid-air, and then respond appropriately to Victoria’s questions, and then deal with her dad—as short-lived as that particular encounter had been.  
  
But now? Now, she had nothing to distract her from her thoughts. And she desperately wished she did.  
  
Her thoughts were an absolute mess—all twisted and tangled, like a thousand spiders had laid cobwebs over one another in some ferocious territory war—but one thing permeated them all.  
  
Amy.  
  
Amy Dallon.  
  
Panacea. The miracle healer (though clearly she underplayed her abilities). A girl whose name and face—and reputation—were internationally renowned.  
  
The sister of Glory Girl: unquestionably the most popular girl (and the most popular _hero_ ) in the history of Brockton Bay.  
  
The daughter of Brandish and Flashbang, and a member of New Wave: a team of superheroes with decades of experience between them.  
  
And Taylor…  
  
Taylor had met her. As plain and boring as Taylor knew she was, she had met _Amy Dallon_. And they’d talked for hours. They’d gotten along— _really_ well! They’d played board games together, just the two of them. They’d drank together. They’d danced, and shared secrets, and they’d—they’d _had sex_.  
  
Taylor had just had a love affair with a superhero.  
  
She’d lost lost her _virginity_ to a _superhero_.  
  
To a _female_ superhero.  
  
To fucking _Panacea_.  
  
And then _Glory Girl_ had _flown her home_!  
  
Taylor had been trying very hard to not think about the entire situation, but now that she _was_ , the absurdity of every one of those statements hit her like a truck. She had never even considered that _one_ of those could happen, much less _all of them at once_.  
  
It was insane. It was ridiculous. It was surreal. It was satisfying and horrifying and a thousand other things simultaneously. Her memories of the whole _night_ felt like that, and yet the memories of what she and Amy had done together, in Amy’s room? Those were a whole other level of confusing.  
  
And they were so _vibrant_! It felt wrong, somehow, to remember it with such detail. She felt voyeuristic. _Perverted_. Even though she’d had an active role in the encounter.  
  
A _very_ active role.  
  
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. They felt hot, burning red with embarrassment and shame and… and…  
  
Oh.  
  
That just made her feel like an even _bigger_ pervert.  
  
Taylor had always held rather rigid views on sex. She knew it was a thing that people did. She knew how it worked—for the most part. She knew that she’d do it, one day—even if she found it hard to believe anyone would ever look at her that way. She knew sexuality was supposed to be a spectrum, and a diverse one at that. And she knew fetishes existed, and that some of them—a _lot_ of them—could be really, _really_ weird, even though none of the fetishes she’d encountered had hugely interested her beyond the academic and logistical aspects (like _why_ some women liked to be spanked).  
  
Which is not to say she wasn’t interested in sex _at all_. She absolutely was. She’d searched for images of naked people—men _and_ women. She’d seen pornographic videos—of various kinds, many watched out of curiosity. And she masturbated with what she thought to be an average frequency (having no frame of reference to truly ascertain whether she did it more or less than other girls her age). And while she wasn’t about to go proclaiming it from the rooftops, she _wanted_ to have sex. She wanted to see what it was like—to see what all the fuss was about. It seemed like fun. And if it felt half as good as touching _herself_ did, well… that was just an additional motivator.  
  
But she wasn’t sex- _crazed_ like the internet said teenagers were supposed to be. She was just interested, and understanding. So, she had concluded that she was… unadventurous. _Normal_. And she had always considered herself that way.  
  
But… she was aroused, now. Sitting there, remembering what she and Amy had done together. She was aroused. She could feel it—in the fluttering of her stomach, the beating of her heart, the heat of her cheeks. She slipped a hand beneath her waist, then prodded between her legs and felt dampness. The signs were all there.  
  
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She wasn’t sure how she was _supposed_ to feel. New revelation upon new revelation were layering themselves upon her brain, and she didn’t have any idea what to do about them, or what they meant—if they, in fact, meant anything at all.  
  
For one thing, she’d always kind of… taken for granted that she was straight. And she was pretty confident her parents had raised her under the same assumption. She and Emma had bathed and slept together up to (and a few times after) puberty. The first time they discovered pornography had been shared. She remembered when they’d played “doctor” together, as children—and when they’d looked at naked women on the internet, comparing their bodies and inevitably being disappointed.  
  
But that all seemed normal. Her parents—and Emma’s, for that matter—had always treated those things as normal (at least, the things they knew about), so she had too. That was just… kids being kids.  
  
Wasn’t it?  
  
She’d never had any reason to doubt that she was perfectly, one-hundred-percent heterosexual. Or never _noticed_ a reason. Until now.  
  
But even now, she didn’t know what her affair with Amy _meant_. Did you automatically _become_ a lesbian (or a bisexual, or whatever other classifications existed) if you had sex with another woman? She didn’t believe so, but her brain refused to accept that, so doubt was unavoidable.  
  
Not to mention the sex itself.  
  
Taylor moved her other hand to her crotch, feeling at the empty space on her waist—just above her clitoris. Where the… where the penis had been. She probably shouldn’t have been embarrassed to think the word—but then again, girls probably weren’t meant to _have_ penises. That seemed pretty unique to the events of the previous night.  
  
It was odd, though. She almost felt as if it were still there, like a phantom limb. Like she could still feel the sensations she’d felt last night—despite her best attempts at blocking them. A tingling in her loins. A _pleasant_ tingling. One that brought to mind memories of sitting below Amy as Amy lowered herself onto her custom-built appendage, taking it slow and tweaking the size to fit. And memories of Taylor lying _atop_ Amy, thrusting in and out of her own volition, like she was half-crazed.  
  
And above all, memories of how it _felt_ —to be _inside_ of another girl in that way. The tightness and wetness and warmth. The sounds and smells. The look on Amy’s face, and the way her breasts bounced with each thrust. The softness of her skin. The taste of her lips. And the pleasure. The _euphoria_. The—  
  
Taylor squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she could, until she could see only nothingness. She tried to slow her breathing—tried to stop those memories from replaying themselves upon her eyelids. It was not easy. She turned her mind back to the topic at hand: the phantom sensation—eager to distract herself. What was it?  
  
Was it a side-effect of Amy’s biology-tweaking? Some leftover modification that she should be worried about? It seemed unlikely—logic would indicate Amy had a lot of practice using her power; she probably wouldn’t make mistakes.  
  
So if not physical, did that make it _psychological_? An imagined effect, born out of some repressed emotion? Like…  
  
Like arousal.  
  
Like _lust_.  
  
Taylor opened her eyes. Looked down at her legs. Felt once more at where the penis had been, her brain insisting it was still there. Her other hand was still beneath the waist of her jeans.  
  
Her throat felt thick. Impossibly thick.  
  
She withdrew her hands—slowly; taking extra care to not brush any part of her body, afraid of what might happen—and stood. Then, for a long minute, she did nothing: only stood there, before her door, unsure of what to do. Split between choices—and wanting, despite herself, to ignore everything. To lie down, go to sleep, and continue doing nothing. That was the easy route.  
  
Taylor couldn’t bring herself to take it.  
  
She walked over to her closet and pulled the door open, pushing aside what few clothes she had hanging up (most were kept in her drawers). At the back sat a small assortment of cardboard boxes, an old stuffed animal keeping them company. Taylor knelt and dragged the boxes toward her, then began rifling through them.  
  
The first held nothing of use. She pushed it away. The second box met the same fate. She pulled the third out, and something fell from behind it—something that had been propped up, caught between the wall and the box.  
  
Taylor reached out and picked it up—hesitantly. She turned it in her hands. It was a picture frame—plain, boring wood, carved to have a slight curve. The frame was cracked and damaged. No trace of the glass panel was left—that was long gone. But the picture… that was intact.  
  
Taylor looked at it, holding the frame in both hands.  
  
It was a photograph of Taylor and Emma—the most recent one they’d ever taken, shot only a few months before Taylor’s mother had died. In it, the girls were grinning foolishly, wearing dresses they’d rented out for the occasion—the wedding of one of Zoe Barnes’s friends.  
  
Taylor remembered that day. She and Emma had done each other’s braids, and their mothers had helped provide modest applications of makeup. She’d felt very pretty, then. Almost as pretty as Emma.  
  
Her grip tightened on the frame. She made herself stare at the photo, taking in all the details of Emma’s face. Then Taylor took stock of how she felt at that moment—the rhythm of her breathing, the way her heart pulsed. She shook her head and stood, letting the picture drop into the box.  
  
Some part of her had expected to feel attraction when she saw that photo. Or maybe even _arousal_. After all, if she was attracted to girls, surely she’d be attracted to Emma: someone who was, and always had been, the prettiest girl Taylor knew—pretty in a very different way than Amy was, and eclipsed by Glory Girl, but exceptional nonetheless.  
  
And yet, she felt no attraction when she looked at that photograph. No arousal. Just anger, and sadness, and a dozen other unhappy things that she would rather not feel. Ever.  
  
What a stupid idea.  
  
Taylor exited the closet, closing the door behind her, then flopped onto her bed with a sigh. Her face sunk into the pillow. She lay there in silence.  
  
Taylor tried to clear her mind, but thoughts about Emma kept butting in. Thoughts that threatened to make her mood even more dour.  
  
She squeezed her eyes shut once more, seeking emptiness.  
  
The thoughts about Emma were driven away…  
  
…only to be replaced by thoughts about Amy.  
  
They were still a mess, those thoughts. Conflicting emotions circling one another, deep inside, fighting over the podium so they could get the chance to make their case to the rest of Taylor’s mind. She still couldn’t understand them. Not a one.  
  
Taylor wished she could ignore them, but escaping her own thoughts was impossible. They’d follow her even into sleep. But, given the choice between angry and hurt thoughts about her history with Emma, and confusing and frenetic thoughts about Amy… the latter was the clear choice.  
  
She rolled onto her side and tried to relax. Knowing—and _accepting_ —what was about to come.  
  
The memories returned to replay themselves upon her eyelids. Again.  
  
And the phantom sensation in her loins that had been afflicting her for hours, no matter how she tried to ignore it… that returned too.  
  
Her throat grew thick. Her breathing became shallow. Her heartbeat sped up. Again.  
  
Arousal.  
  
Again.  
  
She let herself feel it.  
  
She let herself remember.  
  
And she let her hands wander.  
  
—————————————————  
  
Some memories flashed through her mind, but others lingered—focusing on the details. It felt as though she was there again, in that room, with Amy. With that intoxicating air. She remembered a touch, a kiss, and imagined she could feel it. Imagined it was real.  
  
The phantom sensation was as strong as ever. She groaned and reached for it in desperation—wishing for a release; wishing it would _leave_. But her hands found nothing. They hovered uselessly in the air, unable to touch what her brain said was there.  
  
It frustrated her.  
  
So she sent them to the next best thing.  
  
—————————————————  
  
Five minutes later, she lay on her bed: sweat sticking her shirt to her skin and her skin to her sheets. She stared at the ceiling, absently studying the tiny cracks and imperfections in the paint, and she waited. Waited for her heartbeat to slow, for her breathing to stabilise—and for her thoughts to untangle themselves.  
  
They didn’t.  
  
One hand traced absent circles on her crotch, where that unrelenting sensation had been. She felt… Well, she wasn’t sure _how_ she felt, and she still struggled with the same questions, but… she felt good.  
  
That had felt good.  
  
No, that was wrong. It had felt _amazing_.  
  
Masturbation _always_ felt good—that was sort of the point—but… despite being much shorter than the usual, that particular session had felt better than any other. More pleasing. More _satisfying_ , even though it had provided no answers to her lingering confusion. More… _meaningful_ , somehow.  
  
And she didn’t know why.  
  
Was it the memories of Amy? Of their lovemaking? Were the memories of her first sexual encounter why she felt more aroused than usual? It was plausible, she thought. Even likely. And not too strange a thing to be aroused by, all things considered.  
  
But another part of her spoke of a second possibility—one that seemed _much_ stranger. The phantom sensation in her loins was gone, now, and she found she almost wanted it _back_. It felt wrong to not have it there. Like something was missing. Which begged the question: was it actually the memories of having a penis that were making her feel this way? The memories of having a _cock_? And of _using_ it, to _fuck_ another girl?  
  
Her cheeks coloured at the mere thought.  
  
She hoped it was the first, and even accepted it may be both. But she worried, deep inside, about that second possibility. About what it could mean.  
  
Because being aroused by _that_ did not seem normal at all.  
  
Of course, her brain decided then was the perfect time to remind her that she didn’t have her hoodie. Taylor had given it to Amy when they’d first awoken, because she was cold. And in the craziness of the morning, she’d forgotten to get it back.  
  
Taylor sighed. She rolled over and fumbled lazily at the set of drawers beside her bed. After a minute of blind groping, she withdrew a pen and a pad of sticky notes. On the topmost note, she wrote a to-do for herself— _Ask Amy for hoodie back_.  
  
She went to put the note away, but paused, instead tapping the pen against her lips and considering for a moment. Then she added another line, below the first— _Research sexuality at the library_ —and stuck the note to her alarm, so she wouldn’t miss it the next day.  
  
She had some thinking to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a while, as well. Who’da thunk it? But hey, at least it’s finished now.
> 
> For a while there I thought Taylor was being uncooperative. But I realised it was specifically the scene between Taylor and Victoria that was giving me trouble.
> 
> I’m still unhappy with like 90% of that scene (and a few other things in this chapter), but I’m not sure what to really do to improve it without rewriting it, and I can’t be fuckin’ arsed to do that. So I figured I’d jump on the “update for Christmas!” bandwagon that a bunch of other fics are doing. Even though it’s not Christmas anymore (I forgot. teehee).
> 
> And while I’m still unhappy with parts of this, I am now realising this is not anything special for me. I’ve been unhappy with parts of _everything_ I’ve ever posted. So I’ve decided to try and do something about this. Currently, my writing process is like this:
> 
> 1\. I write something.  
> 2\. I an unhappy with some aspect of that thing.  
> 3\. I let it stew in my library for anywhere from a week to a couple months, intending to get around to “fixing it” soon.  
> 4\. I don’t do that.
> 
> And as a direct result, I feel like I’m stalling—making no progress on anything. I don’t like that feeling. So, instead of fucking around in pursuit of some nebulous bullshit concept of “perfect,” I am going to attempt to just say “fuck it” and post things earlier. We shall see how this affects things.
> 
> Though, that said, I want to say that I’m very grateful to have readers who accept that I am, in fact, ~~a tortoise masquerading as~~ a human.
> 
> Anyhow. This chapter was short (as I said it would be), so… have [a bonus omake](http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/20621653). Which I am also not happy with, but like I said: fuck it.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Monday, April 11th_**  
  
I walked through the hallways of Arcadia, a bundle of nerves, my feet setting a brisk pace.  
  
I kept glancing over my shoulder as though I was being followed by some nefarious being that bore me ill will—or worse, good intentions. The hallways were empty. But I still suspected Victoria was stalking me, just waiting to pounce and give me that disappointed look of hers if I strayed from the path.  
  
It was probably paranoia. But it sufficed to keep me on track.  
  
I rounded a corner and checked the slip of paper in my hand, then glanced at the room before me. The sign read “2E,” meaning…  
  
I turned, and there it was. 2F, the nameplate decreeing it Mr. Phillips’s mathematics class. Class was still in session, of course—I’d left five minutes early. She wouldn’t be out for a while yet.  
  
I stood in the hall, staring at the door, torn between leaving while I still had the chance… and doing what I had to do. Torn like I always was when push came to shove. But I couldn’t just leave her hoodie on the floor. She’d given it to me when I’d needed it, in good graces. I had a responsibility to make sure she received it in good condition.  
  
I sighed and leaned against the wall beside the door, settling down to wait. The bell would ring in a minute or two. I squeezed the bundled-up hoodie in my hands, rehearsing what I’d say and how I’d say it. I wouldn’t trip over my words this time. I’d be clear and direct. To-the-point. I’d give her the hoodie, then—  
  
The bell rang.  
  
I jumped, then again when I remembered what else I was holding. I stuffed the slip of paper into my pocket, letting it crumple. I had no idea how Victoria had gotten her hands on it, but I didn’t want to be seen with a full copy of another student’s schedule—certainly not by the student in question. That’d be a bad note to start things on.  
  
I heard the professor give his closing notes as chairs were pushed back and bags were packed. Then the door opened, and a brown-haired boy hurried out, followed closely by a brown-haired girl. Then a redheaded boy. Then another brown-haired boy. Then—wait. I spun around, searching, even as the other classes began to empty into the hall.  
  
I spotted her instantly. And I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t her clothes; she was dressed simply, almost _boringly_ , like she had been the night of the party. And it wasn’t her height: most of the boys were as tall as her, or taller, and she hunched in on herself enough that she didn’t stand out—but not enough to have the opposite effect. My eyes just found her.  
  
Ironic, considering she’d been the second person out, and I’d almost missed her.  
  
I ran after her. “Taylor!” I said, chickening out halfway through, making the second half of her name a squeak. A boy glanced back at me, but I hurried past him. “Taylor!” _That was better_.  
  
She turned. Her eyes widened when she recognised me. I stopped in front of her—abruptly enough that I almost had to pinwheel to avoid falling. “Amy,” she said. “Hi.”  
  
I flushed like an overripe cherry. “H-h-hi!” I said, trying to smile. So much for my plan.  
  
Taylor smiled back. Her smile was still much nicer than mine. “Hi.”  
  
I stood frozen in place for a long moment, the crowd passing around us. “U-uh… This!” I thrust the hoodie at her. “This is yours!”  
  
It took her a moment to realise what I was offering her. “Oh, thanks,” she said, taking it from me. “I was—”  
  
“I washed it!” I said, then winced and wished I’d kept my mouth shut. Interrupting her wasn’t a good move. This was falling apart _very_ quickly. But at least I was getting something useful out of it: I now had firsthand evidence of how neanderthals communicated. My anthropology teacher would love me. “Um, sorry. What were you saying?”  
  
Taylor shook her head. “Nothing important. I was going to try and find you today, to ask about this.” She shook the hoodie for emphasis. “Now I don’t have to.”  
  
“Oh. Okay. So…” I shifted in place. Taylor was staring right at me, unblinking. It was more than a little unnerving. I cast constant glances at her eyebrows and hair and chin and ears. I couldn’t muster the courage to look her in the face for more than a few seconds at a time.  
  
I realised then that I’d totally forgotten my exit plan. I’d totally forgotten if I’d ever even _come up with_ an exit plan. So I said the first thing that popped into my head—as I always do when I panic. “Where are you headed?”  
  
“Library.” Taylor hitched her backpack. “There’s a few things I want to look at.”  
  
I nodded and said nothing, letting her continue.  
  
She didn’t.  
  
I felt a sudden stab of hurt that she didn’t invite me to join her, though I understood completely. She must’ve thought I was being a pain. I didn’t blame her. I wouldn’t have extended an invitation either, were our roles reversed.  
  
And at the same time, I felt _super_ grateful—to the point where I had to fight to not sigh in relief. If I’d had to try and maintain a longer conversation with her _now_ , after the disaster I’d already perpetuated… I probably would’ve had a heart attack. Especially if she kept staring at me like that.  
  
_Talk about internal conflict_ , I thought. _How stupid can you be? Pick something to feel and feel it, Amy. You can’t multitask to save your life_.  
  
“W-well,” I said. “I’ll see you later, then.”  
  
After a second, Taylor nodded. “See you later.”  
  
I waved and said, “Have fun at the library.”  
  
Then I turned tail and ran.  
  
—————————————————  
  
“You too!” Taylor called after Amy’s quickly-retreating figure.  
  
On the inside, Taylor winced. ‘ _You too’?_ she thought. _That makes no sense. Amy’s not going to the library. I am._  
  
On the outside, she watched Amy leave—or at least, she appeared to do so. In actuality, she stared at a mark on the wall, a few inches _above_ Amy’s head. And even that felt dangerous. Her eyes wanted to fall lower—to Amy’s back… and lower still.  
  
Taylor seemed to have miraculously gained the ability to see through Amy’s clothes. Either that, or her mind was playing a very mean trick on her. Even in Taylor’s peripheral vision, some part of her brain was converting her view of Amy’s clothed behind to a view of Amy’s _nude_ behind, the image helpfully (and traitorously) supplied by her memories. And the effect was not at all limited to Amy’s rear.  
  
She hadn’t thought that was a thing that could actually _happen_ —it sounded like a plot device in a trashy romance novel. But she now had evidence to the contrary. Seeing Amy had shocked Taylor to her core, at first—her brain’s edits were _quite_ convincing. And speaking with Amy had been a real exercise in her self-control. All she could think to do was to stare at Amy’s nose and take deep breaths, which had proven _marginally_ effective at best.  
  
Taylor couldn’t have _avoided_ noticing without turning away completely—which would have been rude, and probably ineffective. The images would have stayed in her head regardless—as they lingered now. She felt like a voyeur. Again. She wished it bothered her more.  
  
Her heart was pounding more than it ever had before. It was sheer force of will that kept sweat from beading on her brow.  
  
Then Amy scurried around a corner at the end of the hall, and a tension Taylor hadn’t recognised up and vanished from her body. She put a hand against the wall, afraid of losing her balance in a public place. She felt like a puppet whose strings had just been cut.  
  
Her other hand came up to cup her cheek. It was cool to the touch. That didn’t seem right—she felt like her cheeks should have been hot enough to melt the flesh from her fingers. What was _wrong_ with her?  
  
Taylor cast a quick glance down the hall to assure herself that Amy had, in fact, gone. Then she turned and hurried in the direction of the library.  
  
—————————————————  
  
“How’d it go?” Victoria asked as I slipped into the seat beside her, lunch tray in hand.  
  
I tried not to blanch. “Fine,” I said. “I gave her the thing.”  
  
“The hoodie, you mean?”  
  
I nodded, poking at my potato salad. What else would I be talking about?  
  
“Okaaay. That’s good and all, but…” Victoria poked me in the side. “You know that’s not what I was asking. How did it _go_?”  
  
I gave her a half-hearted shrug. “Fine.”  
  
Victoria tilted her head. “Meaning…?”  
  
“…Neither of us died?” I said. “It went fine. What exactly do you want me to say, here?”  
  
She slumped over her tray dramatically—careful not to actually smush her face into her food. “You were supposed to _talk_ to her, Ames. If you want to be friends, you have to, like… make an _effort_.”  
  
I scowled. “I did!”  
  
“Then how’d it go?”  
  
“Fine!” I turned to her. “It wasn’t _amazing_ , and we’re not going to elope before the week is out, but like I’m telling you: it—went— _fine_! And I think that’s more than enough.” I stabbed my fork into a bit of carrot and chewed it. “You realise we only met on Friday, right? These things might happen at lightspeed for you, but they don’t for me. Give me a break.”  
  
Victoria twirled her fork in salad for a moment, then sighed. “Sorry. I only—”  
  
“It’s fine. You can step in if I wind up setting someone on fire, but just—” I took a breath and let it out again. “At least let me _try_ to handle this myself, first. Okay?”  
  
Victoria bit her lip, but nodded. “Okay,” she said. “You’re the boss, Ames.” She smiled. “I’ll be your support. Use me as you please.”  
  
I twitched, and tried to avoid overthinking what she’d just said. “Thank you.” _Surface value. Nothing more_. “I’ll do better next time.”  
  
We munched on the cafeteria food in silence for a minute. It was as bland as ever. My irritation with Victoria (for being too pushy, again) and myself (for being useless, again) cooled and left me feeling… despondent. I tried not to think about _that_ , either. It’d just make me depressed.  
  
I looked around the cafeteria, just for something to do. I saw a couple of Victoria’s friends lining up for their lunch, and a third sitting down beside her boyfriend. Dean ate with a couple of the Ward boys, near the exit. The usual cliques assumed their usual tables.  
  
Then I saw Taylor. She walked around the edge of the room, tray in hand, and slid into a seat across from another pretty brunette—a girl who looked vaguely familiar. I’d seen her at the party.  
  
Taylor and the brunette began to chat. I watched them. Taylor smiled at something the brunette said.  
  
“I don’t think she likes me, anyway,” I mumbled. I hadn’t even _thought_ it before the words were out of my mouth.  
  
“What, Taylor?” Victoria said. “No, no. She _definitely_ likes you, trust me. I have it on very good authority.”  
  
I blinked at her. “Whose authority? Yours?”  
  
“For starters.”  
  
“I’m not sure you’re the most reputable source, here,” I said.  
  
“I disagree completely. Now, c’mon: why do you think that?”  
  
I sighed, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. It felt stupid, now. “She was staring at me, when I returned the thing. I was obviously annoying her.”  
  
“You weren’t _obviously_ anything,” Victoria said. “Did she _say_ you were annoying her?”  
  
“…No.”  
  
“Then you have no idea what she was thinking.” Victoria tossed her head. “She was probably entranced by your beauty.”  
  
I snorted. “Sure she was.”  
  
“I’m serious!” Victoria put her finger on my ear and pushed, forcing me to turn towards her. “Where is this coming from, Ames? Of _course_ she likes you. What happened wouldn’t’ve happened if she didn’t. And it wouldn’t’ve happened if she thought you were ugly, either. So I don’t know what gave you this idea, unless…” She looked around, and spotted Taylor. “ _Ahh_.” Victoria grinned and bumped me with her elbow. “Feeling jealous?”  
  
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” I said, turning up my nose.  
  
Victoria chuckled. “You should go sit with her.”  
  
I shook my head. “I’d just make it awkward.” I spotted a pair of Victoria’s friends walking in our direction. “I don’t want to bother her. Now shush. Your friends are coming.”  
  
“Mmm.” Victoria gave her friends a wave, then leaned in to my ear, her voice breathy. “When you start dating, you’ll be sitting together all the time.”  
  
I flushed. “We’re not dating. Shush.”  
  
“Not yet, you’re not,” Victoria said, leaning back again. “But it’s gonna happen. Just a matter of time.”  
  
Victoria’s friends dropped into seats opposite us. “What’s gonna happen?” one of them said.  
  
Victoria pointed at a piece of cake on the other girl’s tray. “That’s gonna go straight to your thighs, is what.”  
  
The girl made a scandalised face, and the table transitioned smoothly into casual conversation. As one would expect, I assumed my usual position: sitting on the sidelines, observing the world around me.  
  
My eyes slid back to Taylor’s table. I watched her as I ate.  
  
I wasn’t about to admit it to Victoria, but I actually _did_ feel a little jealous. It bubbled up inside of me like it had on Saturday, when Dean had smiled at Taylor over breakfast. And it was even more irrational now than it had been then—Dean at least had a history of hooking up with people I was interested in, knowingly or not. This girl Taylor was sitting with had never done anything to me. I’d never even met her. And yet I wanted to push her down a flight of stairs and _become_ her.  
  
I felt like a total idiot.  
  
And I still wasn’t sure how I felt about Taylor, or what I wanted from her. Victoria wanted us to date—that was clear as day. And if that small encounter after second period was any indication, Taylor herself was quite the enigma, so I had no idea how she felt about me, or what she wanted from me—if her standards were low enough to want _anything_ from me.  
  
Victoria had convinced me to try and develop a relationship with Taylor—and a weekend of her incessant prodding and questioning had left me too tired to form a coherent objection. Then I’d realised that if being Taylor’s friend actually _was_ possible… I _would_ like to try and achieve it. To regain that sense of kindred-spiritship I’d felt during our first night together.  
  
But the prospect of dating… I was less sure about that than Victoria seemed to be. And my feelings on _that_ matter were a tremendous mess. I liked Taylor—I _did_ —but dating sounded like a _lot_ of work. The sensible part of me said friendship was a lofty enough goal for the time being. The horny part of me wanted to ask her out just so we could have sex again. Other parts said a hundred other things.  
  
I doubted my ability to ask her out, even if I decided I wanted to. But if, by some miracle, Taylor decided to ask _me_ out… I wasn’t sure what I would say. It was all very confusing.  
  
Befriending her, though… _that_ was definitely on the agenda. So I’d promised to do my best, and Victoria had promised to help me—a notion that still felt weird and uncomfortable, but I couldn’t exactly tell her that without explaining _why_.  
  
The first step on the path to accomplishing that was to initiate contact. I’d already completed that once, by returning the hoodie (though I’d needed Victoria to push me into it).  
  
The second step was making conversation. I’d done a much worse job of that part.  
  
And the third step… that would be to meet with Taylor _outside_ of school. To hang out. Friends did stuff like that.  
  
The prospect had terrified me yesterday, as it had terrified me earlier today, and as I expected it would terrify me tomorrow.  
  
I was ready and willing to make a friend. But that didn’t mean I had to be eager—and my willingness didn’t make it any easier…  
  
…as the next few days made abundantly clear.  
  
—————————————————  
  
My second attempt at interaction did not go much better—but in my defence, it had been an accidental meeting. I had not been given the chance to prepare.  
  
I’d bumped into Taylor the next day, the both of us rounding opposite hallways at the same time. We’d each frozen in place—legs, mouths, eyes: every part of us locked up in surprise.  
  
Some stroke of good fortune hit me—an invisible lightning bolt stimulating the exact part of my brain that retained knowledge of my three steps. I had to initiate contact, or I’d die alone.  
  
So I took a big breath and did it.  
  
“Hi,” I said.  
  
“Hi,” she said.  
  
… _deja vu_.  
  
We stared at each other. Other students wandered the halls around us, paying us no mind. Those magic words danced on the tip of my tongue, but they were as elusive as ever. I flapped my mouth like a fish—or… no, more like a bird. Fishes don’t have wings, so they don’t have anything to flap.  
  
Unless they can flap fins. Could fins flap? Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t think of any other words to describe what fish do with their fins. If they didn’t flap, they wouldn’t be able to move. They’d be rocks. And fish aren’t rocks, so they must flap.  
  
Bam. Mystery solved. Suck it, Nancy Drew.  
  
Besides, flying fish exist. So the whole thing is moot.  
  
“Uh… what?”  
  
I blinked. Taylor was staring at me—direct eye contact, just like yesterday. It felt just as intense. “D-did I say that out loud?”  
  
“The fish thing?” Taylor said. “…Would you believe me if I said ‘no’?”  
  
“D-don’t get the wrong idea,” I said on automatic, my cheeks assuming their natural state when I was near Taylor: red and burning. “I—I’m not weird or anything. It’s for my marine biology class. We all have to do a thesis, and I’m doing mine on whether flying fish are fish or… uh… rocks.”  
  
“ _Oh_.” Taylor nodded, as if what I’d just said made _any_ sense. “Okay,” she said. “Yeah. This place has lots of weird classes. _Lumberjacking 101_ was on my sign-up sheet.”  
  
I returned the nod. “Well, uh—I have class, so…”  
  
Taylor nodded again. I could only imagine how stupid we would look from an outside view. “Yes, class. I have that, too. Lots of classes.”  
  
“Well, uh… I don’t want to keep you,” I said. I wondered if ‘uh’ was in the dictionary, because I was really putting it to work.  
  
“No,” Taylor said. “I don’t want to keep you, either.”  
  
I shifted in place. Leaving conversations gracefully was much harder when you didn’t have a good excuse prepared. It was recess, and class had just _ended_ , so next period was still at least twenty minutes away.  
  
We exchanged several more nonsense agreements that we should probably go our separate ways before we finally hit upon the one that _worked_. She waved goodbye, and I waved goodbye, and then we turned and walked in exact opposite directions.  
  
It took all my self control to not bash my head against the wall.  
  
I didn’t even want to go this way.  
  
—————————————————  
  
Over the rest of the week, the universe made full use of its almighty power by consistently placing us in the same room—and my body made its objections clear by consistently fucking something up without my input. Astrophysicists would have _loved_ to study the former phenomenon, and my neurologist acquaintances would have kissed my feet to study the latter.  
  
The third day had seen me arrive late to the cafeteria, held back so a teacher could ask me about her _rash_. In my rush to grab my food and get over to Victoria’s table, I’d neglected to look for Taylor. Which meant, of course, I walked right by her table.  
  
I bumped the table and cast an apology at its occupants—meeting Taylor’s eyes. My legs froze up _again_ , and I tripped. The next two seconds felt like an eternity as I attempted to both right myself in mid-air and keep my cafeteria tray horizontal.  
  
My ability to multitask had not improved in the last two days.  
  
I landed as awkwardly as a human being _could_ land—on my chest, with my butt sticking into the air… pointed at Taylor. If I’d been wearing a skirt, she would’ve been able to see right through me. Salad rained onto my hair as the rest of my lunch scattered around me. The tray added insult to injury by smacking me on the rear before clattering to the floor.  
  
I groaned.  
  
I felt someone grab me by the side and pull me up. “A-Amy?” Taylor said. “Are you alright?”  
  
I glanced at her. Taylor’s cheeks glowed a fierce but restrained red. She was probably an inch away from laughing at me. “I’m fine, Taylor, thank you,” I said with as little emotion as I could manage. I picked up my tray. “ ‘Scuse me. I gotta grab seconds.”  
  
—————————————————  
  
The fourth day was an embarrassment. I’d been walking down the hall, close to the lockers (traffic was lighter on the fringes)—not paying much attention to where I was going. I only realised there was an open locker right in front of me when the door closed, and suddenly my eyes were locked on Taylor’s. I stared at her, and she stared at me. It was weird.  
  
And it got even weirder when I realised what that must’ve looked like from _her_ perspective. She’d closed the door, expecting empty air behind it, only to find _my face_ instead. Staring. Like I was trying to burn a hole through the metal with my eyes. I’d only been standing there for a second, but she had no way of knowing that. As far as she could tell, I’d been there for five minutes.  
  
She must have thought I was some kind of _stalker_.  
  
I turned and patted the nearest locker—which just so happened to be hers. “This is _not_ mine,” I said. Then I beat a hasty retreat.  
  
—————————————————  
  
Throughout the entirety of the fifth day, I held a secret hope that I wouldn’t run into her again. And it seemed like we’d make it the entire day without anything happening.  
  
Then, as I was heading for my locker after final period, I felt a sudden premonition. It said Taylor was about to round the corner behind me, and it would be the usual level of awkward and embarrassing. While my brain was distracted trying to decide between running away like a coward and staying to face the awkwardness, my body took control. And so, I ran.  
  
I hurried down the hall, my feet eager to take me into the next corridor, where I’d be safe. Then we ran into each other—again. Only, this time, we _literally_ ran into each other. I slipped and fell on the polished floor. Taylor fell on top of me, barely managing to catch herself before our skulls could collide.  
  
Her arms locked me in—one on either side of my head. Our noses touched. Her knee ended up between my legs, _dangerously_ close.  
  
Her lips, an inch away from mine. I could feel her breath. Her hair tickled my skin.  
  
It reminded me of my fantasies. And now was _not_ a good time to be reminded of those.  
  
I turned into a tomato. And Taylor, of course, had no interest in being near a tomato. She shot upright, pulling me with her and stammering an apology. Once we were on our feet (figuratively speaking; tomatoes don’t have feet) she repeated her babbled apology and hurried away.  
  
I watched Taylor leave. _That was different_ , I thought as I transformed back into my best imitation of a human being. Normally, _I_ was the one babbling nonsense and running away, leaving _Taylor_ to stare after me and wonder how many times I’d been dropped on my head as a baby.  
  
In fact, Taylor had been weirdly composed every other time I’d made a fool of myself. Even on the morning after we… met… I hadn’t ever seen her freak out. She’d been calm as a cucumber. She’d dealt with everything _like an adult_.  
  
But _that_ … that was something _I_ would do.  
  
Taylor slipped a little as she hurried around a corner. Then she poked her head back around and waved at me. I tilted my head and returned the wave, and then she was gone. That was starting to be our routine. Congress had passed a new law, dictating that one of us had to be an idiot at least once per encounter—and we had to wave at the end of it all. I never waved to Victoria.  
  
I shook my head, turning from the empty hall and heading to the cafeteria. I felt odd. Every other time Taylor and I had run into one another, I’d _wanted_ to talk to her. The words were there, floating in the back of my mind. Everything I could think to say—and everything I’d _planned_ to say. But every time, embarrassment washed those words away. It didn’t matter what my plan was. Who could make small talk after making a fool of themselves?  
  
I’d let that control me. I’d become all flustered and stupid—completely incapable of saying anything clever, much less behaving in a calm and logical fashion.  
  
But I didn’t feel that way, right now. I actually felt… calm. _Normal_.  
  
It was _weird_.  
  
Calmness was not something I experienced often. There was always something happening, something for me to worry and fret about, something for me to overthink.  
  
For the last week, that ‘something’ had been Taylor, and what exactly our relationship _was_ , and what exactly I _wanted_ our relationship to be, and what the answers to those questions might mean, and how they might affect the _other_ questions, and what those other questions _were_ , and… it was a crazy, nonsensical mess—as per usual. Before Taylor, that ‘something’ had been the hospital or Victoria or Carol or Mark or New Wave or school or any one of a hundred other things ranging from big to little to _tiny_.  
  
But in that moment, standing in that hallway, staring after Taylor’s ghost… I couldn’t bring myself to think about any of those things that worried me. All I could think about was _why_ she’d reacted the way she just did—not in a “this is clearly my fault, but how?” way, but more a “what could this mean?” way.  
  
It felt as though Taylor had taken the burden of being stupid off my shoulders—so I didn’t have to berate myself afterward. Didn’t have to toss and turn at night as my brain showed me every mistake I’d made. Didn’t have to make “scream into pillow” my top priority for when I got home.  
  
I didn’t feel like I had to do those things—unlike every other encounter we’d had since we met. I could just relax.  
  
Yeah. It was weird. But…  
  
It was weird in a _good_ way.  
  
I picked up my bag and headed down the hall again, toward my locker. I had a shift at the hospital after school, but my steps didn’t feel like they usually did. They felt… lighter. Just a _touch_ , to be sure, but enough to be noticeable.  
  
—————————————————  
  
Victoria landed on the hospital roof, grinning at the shocked nurse she’d landed next to. “Don’t mind me!” she said, skipping over to the stairwell. “Just here to pick up my lil’ sis.”  
  
The nurse made a silly sound with his mouth. The joint held limply between his lips wobbled as he went slack-jawed.  
  
Victoria nodded. “Third floor, okidoke. Read you loud ’n clear.” She popped the door open and entered the building—then she poked her head back out to get one last word in. “You probably shouldn’t be doing that on hospital property, bee-tee-dubs.”  
  
The nurse jumped—literally _jumped_ —and the joint fell down his scrubs. Victoria left as he started dancing.  
  
It took her a few minutes to find Amy—and would’ve taken longer if she couldn’t float down hallways. Amy was still seeing to the patients on her waiting list, despite the fact that her shift had already ended. Like she always did.  
  
Victoria looked into a room and spotted her sister standing beside a patient’s bed, fingers to a middle-aged woman’s wrist. Victoria raised her hand to knock on the doorframe, but paused. She tilted her head, trying to identify where that _sound_ was coming from. Then she realised… it was coming from Amy.  
  
Amy was _humming_.  
  
Victoria shook herself like a dog after a swim—just in case. But the sound was still there. It wasn’t her imagination. Those noises were _actually_ coming from _her sister_.  
  
She lowered her hand, and settled against the doorway—watching.  
  
Amy hummed some more. It wasn’t a full song—at least, not one Victoria recognised. Just a few sparse notes. Like she wasn’t doing it consciously. Amy drummed her fingers on the bed rails once, then withdrew her hand. “All done, Ms. Atkinson,” Amy said. “Now you just have to do what the doctor said. Get some food and rest, and you’ll be free to leave.”  
  
“Thank you, Panacea,” the woman said, stretching out her hand. “If there’s anything I can ever do…”  
  
Amy shook her head, stepping back so she was _just_ out of the woman’s reach. She didn’t even seem to realise she’d done it. “I’m just doing my job, Ms. Atkinson.”  
  
_Business as usual, there_ , Victoria thought. Amy’s bedside manner was better than Victoria remembered—she was using people’s _names_ , for one thing—but nothing drastic. Still a looot of room for improvement. The humming, though… that was new.  
  
Amy picked up the chart at the foot of the woman’s bed and ticked the box that’d be labeled ‘Treated by Panacea.’ That done, she turned on her heel in an uncharacteristically fluid motion and moved to leave, resuming her absent humming. Then she saw Victoria and froze—like she’d been caught red-handed, doing something she shouldn’t be doing. The humming froze with her.  
  
“Uh—Hey, Vicky,” she said, walking over. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Victoria raised an eyebrow. “I’m here to pick you up. Your shift’s been over for like ten minutes.”  
  
“It has?” Amy fished her phone out of her pocket and checked the time. “Huh.”  
  
“Yup,” Victoria said. “Now go sign out! Mom’s making dinner as we speak, and I doubt either of us want cold spaghetti.”  
  
“But there’s still, like, three people I’m supposed to get to. Can’t we—“  
  
“No.” Victoria planted her fists on her hips. “We can’t. You’re gonna have to deal with ‘em next time. Go sign out.”  
  
Amy opened her mouth to object again, but she quieted when Victoria put a finger to her lips.  
  
“Seriously,” Victoria said. “I want my spaghetti. Go sign out.”  
  
Amy’s cheeks coloured. At least she had the good graces to be embarrassed about it. Then Amy nodded and headed downstairs, Victoria following close behind—just to make sure she did what she was _supposed_ to do, and nothing else.  
  
A minute later, Victoria swept Amy off her feet and flew into the night sky. Victoria kept a lower altitude and speed than she usually did—she was willing to sacrifice hot spaghetti in exchange for a talk with her sister… especially when Amy was incapable of running away.  
  
“Did you have a good day?” Victoria said.  
  
“What?” Amy glanced up at her. “I dunno. It was normal.”  
  
“Mm. Did something good happen?”  
  
“Nothing special. Why?”  
  
“Oh, just wondering how my favourite sister is doing.” Victoria smiled. “How are things going with Taylor?”  
  
Amy twitched, looking down at the city beneath them. Hiding her face. “Fine. Like I’ve said every other time you’ve asked. By which I mean _every day this week_.”  
  
Victoria nodded, watching her sister closely. “Yeah, buuuut… I still don’t know what exactly ‘fine’ means.”  
  
“Then look it up,” Amy said. “I’m sure we have a dictionary somewhere.”  
  
“Har har. Did something happen with her?”  
  
Amy didn’t reply. Her smart-mouth had run out of battery.  
  
Victoria’s smile widened. “I _knew_ it.”  
  
“Knew what?” Amy said, glaring at her. “I didn’t say anything.”  
  
“Didn’t have to. I can read you like a book, Ames. So, what happened?”  
  
Amy crossed her arms and stared out at the sky, saying nothing. Being stubborn. Victoria smirked and gradually angled them sideways, until they were sketching a circle above the streets.  
  
Amy noticed on the second repeat. “I thought you wanted your spaghetti.”  
  
Victoria shrugged with her head—you couldn’t shrug normally with another person in your arms. “Microwaves exist. What happened?”  
  
Amy sighed. “Nothing.”  
  
Victoria exited her loop, reassuming the correct path to their house—the detour had gotten Amy talking. That’s all that mattered. “It can’t’ve been nothing, Ames. When I came to pick you up, you were humming.”  
  
“What? No I wasn’t.”  
  
“You totally were.”  
  
“I totally was not.”  
  
“Well, there’s one thing you’re _definitely_ doing, as we speak.” She smiled again. “Stalling.”  
  
Amy turned away with a huff. “I’m not stalling. I’m being honest. Nothing happened.”  
  
Victoria tilted her head. “Like, _literally_ nothing? You haven’t spoken at all?”  
  
Her sister didn’t say anything.  
  
“Ames—”  
  
“Close enough.”  
  
Victoria frowned. “Didn’t you say—”  
  
“I say a lot of things. Not the least of which is ‘I’ll do better next time.’” She spat over her shoulder, onto the streets below. Her voice became harsh. “It’s called lying. I can barely look her in the face, much less sustain a fucking conversation. It’s a doomed prospect, and it has been since the start.” The tension fled Amy’s body as suddenly as it’d come, and her voice changed again—now a broken mumble that Victoria strained to hear. “I can’t do this. It’s impossible.”  
  
Victoria quieted. She’d messed up. In the few minutes they’d been flying, she’d tripped and fallen into the ladder bearing Amy’s mood—and now they all lay in the gutter. Her arms held a ball of gloom.  
  
Their house crested the horizon ahead. Victoria slowed down, but Amy elbowed her ribs _right_ where she was most sensitive, and she took the cue. “Okay. Just… tell me one thing?”  
  
It took a long, long moment… but Amy nodded.  
  
“Something _did_ happen today,” Victoria said. “Something that made you happy. What was it?”  
  
There was no reply. Victoria waited, letting Amy have her silence—even as their house drew ever closer. When Amy got like this, pushing her would only have the opposite effect. They were very similar, in that way.  
  
But even knowing that, Victoria couldn’t stop herself from worrying Amy wouldn’t respond at all.  
  
They reached the house in silence, and landed on the front lawn in silence. Victoria put Amy down and walked to the door.  
  
Time slowed to a crawl. Her hand closed around the knob. She turned it.  
  
“I realised I’m not the only one who feels this way.”  
  
The door swung open in silence. Amy stepped through.  
  
“Thank you,” Victoria said as her sister passed.  
  
_That’s all I need_.  
  
—————————————————  
  
Victoria ate her spaghetti with all the good behaviour and social grace she usually managed, her mind whirling as fast as her fork with plots and plans—ideas to set Taylor and Amy on the right track. To give them that much-needed kickstart… even if that kick had to hit ‘em right in the ass.  
  
There was no time to waste. The moment her bowl was empty, she set about putting **PLAN A** into action.  
  
**_PHASE ONE_** _is a go_.  
  
Amy rose from the table, having finally finished her food (she was a slow eater), and headed for the sink. Victoria grabbed her empty bowl and cup of cola—cleverly retrieved when she’d gone for seconds—and mimicked Amy, pacing her steps to match.  
  
Her sister reached the sink first— _all according to plan_. Victoria crossed the distance with a sashay, then faked a trip… making sure to spill her cola all over Amy’s top.  
  
“Vicky!” her sister said, jumping back much too late to do anything about it. “Urgh.” Amy raised her arms, glaring as the spill on her shirt spread. “Can’t you watch where you’re going, for once?”  
  
“Sorry,” Victoria said, putting on a sheepish face. She glanced at her mom. “There’s a reason I fly everywhere.”  
  
Her mom gave Victoria an unimpressed look. “Not going to change my mind,” she said. “No flying in the house.” She turned to Amy. “You, go take a shower. Victoria, fetch her some clean clothes.”  
  
“Yes ma’am!” Victoria said. Then she and Amy each ran off to do their tasks—or rather, Victoria ran, and Amy trudged.  
  
Spilling her drink like that had been a risk, but a calculated one. Dampening Amy’s mood was an unfortunate side-effect, but if all went well, that consequence would be negated soon. The next phase demanded her sister be stuck in one location for five minutes—at the minimum.  
  
Victoria retrieved a fresh set of clothes and passed them to Amy through a crack in the bathroom door. She stood in the hall, twiddling her thumbs, until finally she heard the unmistakeable sound of a hundred jets of water striking porcelain. Then she burst into action.  
  
**PHASE TWO** : initiated.  
  
Victoria flew down the hall as fast as she could without knocking things about. At the corner, she dropped to her feet and transitioned smoothly into a brisk, casual walk—just in case her mother was on the other side. But all was clear, so Victoria flew into her room and locked the door.  
  
Within moments, her phone was in her hands, the dial tone ringing in her ear.  
  
_Click_.  
  
“Hebert household, Danny speaking,” a man’s voice said. Taylor’s father?  
  
Victoria smiled—that kind of thing was audible. “Hi!” she said. “Victoria Dallon, here. Sorry to call so late, but I was wondering if Taylor was available?”  
  
The man on the other end took a moment to reply. “Uh… yes. I’ll put her on.”  
  
She heard the creak of old stairs and floorboards as he moved. Victoria glanced at the clock. Amy’s showers usually lasted longer when she was in a bad mood, but time was still of the essence.  
  
A knocking sound, on wood. Rumbling and bumping as the phone was handed over. Then…  
  
“…Victoria?”  
  
“Hey, Taylor!” she said. “Long time no talk.”  
  
“…Not _that_ long.”  
  
“Maybe. Anyho, while I’d love to chit-chat for an hour or two—” Taylor made a choking noise. “—I’m actually calling on behalf of my sister.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Yup! I’m sure you’ve noticed Amy can be a little shy. So she wanted me to ask in her place.”  
  
“…Ask what?”  
  
Victoria couldn’t hold back her grin. “She wants to know if you’ll go on a date with her tomorrow.”  
  
Silence. But not a regular silence, no—this silence was an audibly _surprised_ silence. Somehow.  
  
“Say… dinner at seven?”  
  
Taylor continued her protest against oral communication. Clearly, activism ran in the family.  
  
“I can pick you up, if you want.”  
  
“U-um,” Taylor said. “…No, that’s alright. I can catch the bus this time.”  
  
Victoria punched her pillow, her excitement demanding to be expressed via physical means. “So you’ll come, then?”  
  
“I will, yes.”  
  
Victoria punched her pillow a few more times. “Great! I’ll let Ames know—she’ll be so happy.” Victoria held a hand over the receiver and hissed, “She said yes!” at the wall, then uncovered the phone again. “Yup. She’s happy.”  
  
“Okay,” Taylor said. “Well… tell her I’ll see her then.”  
  
Victoria nodded with vigour. “She’ll see you then. Ciao!”  
  
“Uh… Bye.”  
  
Victoria hung up, and fist pumped the air. **PHASE TWO** : complete.  
  
Now came the hard part: she had to convince Amy to go.  
  
…and she also had to call Taylor again. She’d forgotten to give the name of the restaurant.  
  
—————————————————  
  
I lifted my mattress and took a cigarette from the pack hidden beneath. A few quick flicks of the accompanying lighter, and the end was ablaze. I let the mattress down again, then moved to lean against my window-sill, looking out onto the street below.  
  
The nearest street-light flickered off and on. It didn’t work properly. I don’t think it ever had. I could empathise.  
  
I took a long drag from the cigarette. It tasted—and _felt_ —as awful as ever. I imagined I could feel it corroding my lungs from the inside out, even as I stood there. That suited me fine.  
  
In what was becoming a recurring fashion, I felt like an idiot. And it wasn’t just my failed attempts at making casual conversation—more than capable of depressing me on its own. My _mood swing_ made it so much worse.  
  
I’d felt pretty good—at least in comparison to how I normally felt—not even five hours ago. I’d gotten through my waiting list faster than usual, and only wanted to slap someone _once_. Victoria had claimed I’d been humming, and despite the objections I’d given, I knew she was right.  
  
I’d gone from feeling good to feeling like shit like someone had flipped a switch. That didn’t seem right. That didn’t happen to normal people.  
  
A sigh crawled out of me. I took another drag. And then my bedroom door opened.  
  
I jumped. The cigarette bounced between my fingers a few times before I managed to flick it out the window. I spun around, intent on yelling at the intruder—only to realise if I opened my mouth now, the smoke would be _damningly_ obvious. I held my breath.  
  
“Good neeews!” Victoria said, grinning as she walked toward me.  
  
“Go’way!” I said in the quietest, highest-pitched, squeakiest voice a human could possibly make.  
  
“I will, I will,” Victoria said, “but you’ll want to hear my news, first.”  
  
I could almost feel myself beginning to turn purple. I waggled my hands at her to hurry up and say it.  
  
“I just spoke with Taylor, aaaand…” Victoria’s smile grew. “You’re having dinner tomorrow!”  
  
“We’re _WHAT_?”  
  
Smoke drifted from my hanging-open mouth. A little cloud ascending to the heavens—or the ceiling, rather.  
  
Victoria’s gaze followed it up. Then she looked at me, a little slack-jawed herself. “Since when were _you_ a smoker?”  
  
“I don’t!” I said. “I mean—I’m not! That’s just… I’m just… blowing smoke rings? Like old people in movies?”  
  
“Is that a question?”  
  
My tongue flopped about in my mouth, somehow managing to do _nothing_ of use. “Um… no?”  
  
Victoria poked me in the sternum. “I remember when I tried smoking like a year ago,” she said, grinning wickedly—another thing that reminded me of my fantasies. “You gave me this biiiig lecture about how bad it was for me, and how I shouldn’t do it. Does that not apply to you, now?”  
  
“I’m not a smoker!” I said. “It’s just one every now and then. After, like, a stressful day, and stuff. Controlled doses. I know how it works. I’m not at risk in any way—I’ve made sure of that. So there’s no problem!”  
  
“Uhuh, sure. You know that’s probably what addicts say, right?”  
  
“Men speak English, too. Doesn’t mean you’re one of them.”  
  
“As far as you know.” Victoria hopped up onto the window-sill. “I don’t blame you, honestly. Your job seems pretty shit. I swear I’ve seen every single nurse at that hospital sneaking one off on the rooftop at some point.”  
  
“You’re not going to lecture me?”  
  
“Nah. I have a couple every now and then, myself. Though I prefer weed.” She bumped me with an elbow. “You should try that sometime.”  
  
I stared at her. _That_ was new information.  
  
“Anyways,” Victoria said. “You. Taylor. Dinner. Tomorrow.”  
  
It took me a moment to figure out what she was talking about. “You—what did you do?”  
  
“Nothing big. I called her house, and asked her on a date for you. I told her you were too shy to do it yourself.”  
  
I rounded on her, too shocked to fully commit to my anger. “What the fuck, Victoria? _Why_?”  
  
“You asked me to give you some time,” Victoria said. “To let you try and do things yourself before I stepped in. I gave you a week, and by your own admission, it didn’t go so well. Which is _not_ your fault, mind you.” She put her hands on my shoulders. I shrugged them off in annoyance, but they returned right away and started squeezing, giving me a massage—a clumsy one, to be sure, but I had to admit: it still felt good. “Like you said, you’ve never had to do this before. You don’t really _get_ how it works. So I’m giving you a kickstart. Are you really gonna tell me you don’t need one?”  
  
“I _don’t_ need one,” I lied, not even knowing why. “So, yes. Can you not—” I gasped as her fingers popped something in my neck. “Can you not go behind my back like that?”  
  
“Theoretically.” Victoria leaned over me and smiled. “I’m not going to stick my nose into things too much. Just kicks up the ass, when you really need them. Like you do now. I’m your guardian angel.”  
  
“Don’t care,” I said, continuing my long-standing habit of being my own worst enemy. “I’m not going.”  
  
Victoria laughed. “You _so_ are.”  
  
“Am not!”  
  
“Are so.”  
  
“Am not!”  
  
“Are—Nope! Not doing that. You’re going.”  
  
I shook my head.  
  
“Okay,” Victoria said, squeezing my shoulders again. “Let’s pretend that you’re _not_ going to go. Why not?”  
  
“Because this wasn’t my decision,” I said. “You did what _you_ wanted, to get _your_ desired outcome.”  
  
“Mm.” She drummed her fingers. “So you _don’t_ want to date her?”  
  
“No, I don’t. That’s what I’ve been telling you. But you keep ignoring me because it’s not what _you_ want to hear. I want to be her _friend_ , not her _girl_ friend.”  
  
“Riiight. So what you’re _also_ saying is that if Taylor walked up to you at school one day and asked you out… you’d say no? Because I don’t believe that for a second.”  
  
I opened my mouth, then closed it when I realised I didn’t have a reply to that.  
  
“That’s all the proof we need. You’d say yes.”  
  
“It’s irrelevant,” I found myself saying. “She’d never do that. I bet you threatened to bust her kneecaps if she said no.”  
  
“I did nothing of the sort,” Victoria said, scandalised. “And Taylor sounded more than happy at the idea of going on a date with you.”  
  
“…She—she did?”  
  
“Damn straight.” Victoria raised her eyebrows. “She even used the words ‘this time.’ Would she say that if she didn’t expect a _second_ date?”  
  
“S-so? It was just a slip of the tongue. Doesn’t mean anything.”  
  
“Ames, I know people. I know you like her, and like I told you before, _she likes you too_. If _she_ were asking _you_ out, you’d say yes. Which means you’re not opposed to the idea. The only reason you’re so against it now is because you’re _scared_ , now that it’s actually _happening_.”  
  
“Sca—I’m not scared!”  
  
“Chill, Ames,” my sister said, hands still massaging me. “I was a nervous wreck the first time I went out with Dean. It’s totally normal. You might be scared now, but trust me when I say you have _nothing_ to worry about. I’ll help you prepare. I’ll give you all the tips I wish I’d had for my first date.” Her lips curved into a wry smile. “At least _your_ date won’t be able to see _exactly_ how nervous you are.”  
  
“I’m not scared,” I said again. It sounded weak even to me. “And I’m not going.”  
  
“Alright, alright, I see how you want to play it. I’m game.” She hopped off the window-sill and floated in front of me, then planted her fist on her chin in the classic thinking pose. “You knooow,” she said, a sly grin creeping onto her face, “it’s just now occurring to me… Mom wouldn’t approve of you smoking. _Especially_ not in the house.”  
  
I blanched, and did my damnedest to suppress a shudder. ‘Would not approve’ was putting it _very_ lightly. “I-If you tell her, I’ll tell her you admitted to doing weed!”  
  
Victoria shrugged. “Mutually assured destruction is cool with me. You’re still going on that date.”  
  
“I’m—ugh.” I glared at her. “You have to promise me you won’t do something like that without my permission again. No going behind my back on _anything_ —especially Taylor stuff.”  
  
“I’d argue I did it for your own good,” Victoria said, “but… okay, sure. I’ll agree to that. Does that mean you’ll go?”  
  
I shifted, my usual rotation of excuses seeming more childish than ever. “Yes. I’ll go.”  
  
Victoria shrieked and starting spinning in mid-air like a top. Then she grabbed me by the arms and spun me around with her. “Great!” she said when we finally stopped. “I’m taking you shopping tomorrow. We’re going all out—‘cos this time it’s _serious_. I’m gonna go plan!”  
  
Then my sister ran from the room like a cartoon mouse, leaving me to lean against the wall for balance.  
  
When my legs stopped wobbling, I walked to the door and locked it. That would have saved me a lot of strife if I’d done it five minutes ago.  
  
Then I sat on my bed, staring at the ceiling, mind a whirl—though I could only focus on one thing. For a moment I thought it was strange that Victoria had been more excited than I was, but then—slowly—it settled in.  
  
_I have a date tomorrow_.  
  
My first _real_ date (Victoria’s attempts at setting me up with random guys off the street didn’t count as dates) with an actual _girl_ who may or may not actually _like_ me.  
  
I rolled onto my face, my previous depression all but forgotten. My feet kicked at the air, all on their own.  
  
_I have a date tomorrow!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here is my first attempt at saying "fuck it" and posting something when it's done. It's longer than it needed to be, and not much actually _happened_ , but it turns out I'm incapable of doing narrative summary. Gonna have to figure that out sometime. Oh well.
> 
> ON THE NEXT EPISODE: date night. Then fast-forwarding through the next month and a half, stopping for a few key events (which will probably require a few chapters of their own).
> 
> But first, I think I ought to polish my outline. It's... a bit of a mess, at the moment. Never tried to make one before. 
> 
> Sidenote: if you're in any of my other story ideas (eg. [Arcadia](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7833481)), you might want to watch [my compilation thread on QQ](https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/3280/). I've been taking idea bouncers/co-developers for a few stories (not including Oops, at least not yet) on Discord. Might post about it there, in a week or so (once the relevant gdocs are up and running).


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